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EDWARD    FITZGERALD 

AN  AFTERMATH 


6oo  copies  of  this  book  have 
been  printed  on  Van  Gelder 
hand -made  paper  and  the 
type  distributed. 


/^ 


EDWARD  FITZGERALD:  AN 
AFTERMATH  BY  FRANCIS 
HINDES  GROOME  WITH  MISCEL- 
LANIES IN  VERSE  AND  PROSE 


PRINTED  FOR  THOMAS  B.  MOSHER  AND 
PUBLISHED  BY  HIM  AT  XLV  EXCHANGE 
STREET,   PORTLAND  MAINE  MDCCCCII 


CONTENTS 


FORKWORD  ...... 

THE    TARNO    RYE    (fRANXLS    HINDES    GROOMe) 

BY    THEODORE    WATTS-DUNTON 
EDWARD    FITZGERALD:     AN    AFTERMATH 

BY    FRANCIS    HINDES    GROOME 

MISCELLANIES  :     IN    VERSE    AND    PROSE 

FITZGERALD'S    MINOR    POEMS  : 

I.       THE    MEADOWS    IN    SPRING 
II.       OCCASIONAL    VERSES 
III.       BREDFIELD    HALL 
IV.       CHRONOMOROS 

V.     virgil's  garden 

VI.       TRANSLATION    FROM    PF:TRARCH 
VII.       ON    THE    DEATH    OF    BERNARD    BARTON 
VIII.       THE    TWO    GENERALS 
NOTES    ON    CHARLES    LAMB     . 
THE    ONLY    DARTER 
"  MASTER    CHARLEY  "    . 
CONCERNING    A     PILGRIMAGE    TO    THE    GRAVE     OI 
EDWARD    FITZGERALD     .... 


P.\GE 

ix 

xvii 

i 

25 


95 

TOO 

105 

1 10 

118 
119 

1  2  I 

129 

135 
141 

•45 


28168:] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


i  edward  fitzgerald 

2  francis  hindes  groom e 

3  mary  frances  fitzgerald 

4  bredfield  hall 

5  fitzgerald's  cottage  at  boulge 

6  farlingay  hall 

7  the  port  of  woodbridge 

8  Fitzgerald's  yacht  '  scandal  ' 

9  market  hill,  woodbridge 
lo  little  grange,  woodbridge 
i  i  boulge  churchyard 

12  Fitzgerald's  grave  at  boulge 


FACSIMILE    of    AN    UNPUBLISHED    LETTER 


PROEM 


PROEM 


CANN'Ol'  sufficiently  thank  you  for  the 
high  and  unmerited  honour  you  have  done 
me  to-night.  I  feel  keenly  that  on  such  an 
occasion^  with  such  company.,  my  place  is 
belo7ii  the  salt ;  but  as  you  kindly  ini'ited  me.,  it  was  7wt  in 
human  nature  for  me  to  refuse.^ 

Although  in  knowledge  and  comprehension  of  the  two 
great  poets  whom  you  are  met  to  comme7norate  I  am  the 
least  among  you,  there  is  no  one  who  regards  them  with 
greater  admiration,  or  reads  them  with  more  enjoyment, 
than  myself  I  can  7ie'cer  forget  my  emotiojis  when  1  first 
saw  FitzGerahPs  translations  of  the  Quatrains.  Keats,  in 
his  sublime  ode  on  Chapman'' s  Ilomer,  has  described  the 
sensation  once  for  all :  — 


'  At  a  dinner  of  the  07nar  Ktiayydni  Club  in  London,  ( Deeember 
8t/t,  fSgj),  The  Hoiourahle  Jolin  Hay  wlio  /tad  been  introduced  by  Mr. 
Henry  Norman  as  '  soldier,  diplomatist,  scholar,  poet,  and  Omarian,' 
dilivered  the  following  address,  pronounced  by  all  who  heard  it  '  a 
masterpiece  of  literary  oratory.^ 


PROEM 


"  Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies 
When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken." 

The  exquisite  beauty.,  the  faultless  form,  the  singular  grace 
of  those  amazing  stanzas.,  were  not  more  tvonderfiil  than 
the  depth  and  breadth  of  their  profound  philosophy,  their 
knowledge  of  life,  their  dauntless  courage,  their  serene  facing 
of  the  ultimate  problems  of  life  and  of  death.  Of  course  the 
doubt  did  not  spare  me,  which  has  assailed  many  as 
ignorant  as  I  zvas  of  the  literature  of  the  East,  whether  it 
was  the  poet  or  his  translator  to  whom  ivas  due  this 
splendid  result.  Was  it,  in  fact,  a  reproduction  of  an 
antique  song,  or  a  mystificatioji  of  a  great  modern,  careless 
of  fame,  and  scornful  of  his  time  1  Could  it  be  possible 
that  in  the  eleventh  century,  so  far  away  as  Khorassan,  so 
accomplished  a  tnan-of-letfers  lived,  with  such  distinction, 
such  breadth,  such  insight,  such  calm  disillusion,  such 
cheerful  and  jocund  despair  1  Was  this  Weltschinerz, 
which  we  thought  a  malady  of  our  day,  endemic  in  Persia  in 
1 100  1  My  doubt  only  lasted  till  I  came  upon  a  literal 
tra?islatio/i  of  the  Rubdiydt,  and  I  saw  that  not  the  least 
remarkable  quality  of  FitzGerald^s  poem  was  its  fidelity  to 
the  origifial. 

In  short,  Omar  was  a  FitzGerald  before  the  latter,  or 
Fitz  Gerald  was  a  reincarnation  of  Omar.  It  is  not  to  the 
disadvantage  of  the  later  poet  that  he  followed  so  closely  in 
the  footsteps  of  the  earlier.    A  man  of  extraordinary  genius 


PROEM 


had  appeared  in  the  world ;  had  sung  a  so?ig  of  incomparable 
beauty  and  power  in  an  e?iviro?iment  no  longer  ivorthy  of 
hifn,  i?i  a  language  of  ?iarrow  range  ;  for  many  generations 
the  song  was  virtually  lost ;  then  by  a  miracle  of  creation,  a 
poet,  a  twin-brother  in  the  spirit  to  the  first,  was  bor?i,  who 
took  up  the  forgotten  poem  and  sang  it  anew  with  all  its 
original  melody  and  force,  and  all  the  accumulated  refine- 
ment  of  ages  of  art.  It  seejns  to  me  idle  to  ask  whicJi  was 
the  greater  master ;  each  seems  greater  than  his  work. 
The  song  is  like  an  instrument  oj  precious  workmanship 
and  tnarvelous  tone,  which  is  tvorthless  in  common  hands, 
but  7C'hen  it  falls,  at  long  intervals,  into  the  hands  of  the 
supreme  inaster,  it  yields  a  melody  of  transcendant  enchant- 
ment to  all  that  have  ears  to  hear.  If  we  look  at  the 
sphere  of  influence  of  the  two  poets,  there  is  no  longer  any 
comparison.  Omar  sang  to  a  half  barbarous  province; 
FitzGerald  to  the  7vorld.  Wherever  the  English  speech  is 
spoken  or  read,  the  Rubdiydt  have  taken  their  place  as  a 
classic.  7 'here  is  not  a  hill-post  in  India,  7ior  a  village  in 
England,  where  there  is  not  a  coterie  to  whom  Omar 
Khayyam  is  a  familiar  friend  and  a  bond  of  union.  /;/ 
America  he  has  an  equal  following,  in  many  regions  and 
conditions.  In  the  Eastern  States  his  adepts  forin  an 
esoteric  sect ;  the  beautiful  volume  of  drawings  by  Mr. 
Vedder  is  a  centre  of  delight  and  suggestion  wherever  it 
exists.    In  the  cities  of  the  West  you  will  find  the  Quatrains 


PROEM 


one  of  the  most  thoroughly  read  books  in  every  dub  library. 
I  heard  them  quoted  once  in  one  of  the  most  lonely  and 
desolate  spots  of  the  high  Rockies.  We  had  been  catnping 
on  the  Great  Divide,  our  "  roof  of  the  7i.'orld,'"  where  in  the 
space  of  a  few  feet  you  may  see  two  springs,  one  sending  its 
7vaters  to  the  Polar  solitudes,  the  other  to  the  eternal  Carib 
summer.  One  morning  at  simrise,  as  we  were  breaking 
camp,  1 7vas  startled  to  hear  one  of  our  party,  a  frontiers- 
man born,  intoning  these  ivords  of  sombre  majesty :  — 

"  '  Tis  but  a  Tent  where  takes  Ms  one  day's  rest 
A  Sttltdn  to  the  realm  of  Death  addrest ; 

The  Sultan  rises,  and  the  dark  Ferrdsh 
Strikes,  and  prepares  it  for  another  Guest.'''' 

I  thought  that  sublime  setting  of  pri7?ieval  forest  and 
pouring  canon  was  worthy  of  the  lines ;  I  am  S7ire  the 
dewless,  crystalline  air  ?iever  vibrated  to  strains  of  more 
solemn  music.  Certainly,  our  poet  can  never  be  numbered 
among  the  great  popular  writers  of  all  time.  He  has  told 
no  story  ;  he  has  never  unpacked  his  heart  iji  public  ;  he  has 
never  thrown  the  reins  on  the  neck  of  the  winged  horse,  and 
let  his  i^nagination  carry  him  where  it  listed.  '■'■Ah  I  the 
croivd  must  have  emphatic  warrant,'"  as  Browning  sang. 
Its  suffrages  are  not  for  the  cool,  collected  observer,  whose 
eye  no  glitter  can  dazzle,  no  mist  suffuse.  The  many  cannot 
but  resent  that  air  of  lofty  intelligence,  that  pale  and  subtle 


PROEM 


smile.  But  he  will  hold  a  place  forever  among  that  limited 
number  7vho,  like  Lucretius  and  Epicurus — without  rage 
or  defiance,  even  ^inthout  unbecoming  mirth, — look  deep  into 
the  tangled  mysteries  of  things  ;  refuse  credence  to  the  absurd, 
atid  allegiance  to  arrogant  authority  ;  sufficietitly  conscious 
of  fallibility  to  be  tolerant  of  all  opinions ;  with  a  faith  too 
wide  for  doctrine  and  a  benevolence  untrammeled  by  creed ; 
too  wise  to  be  wholly  poets,  and  yet  too  surely  poets  to  be 
implacably  wise. 


FOREWORD 


The  Clay  that  I  am  made  of  once  was  Man, 
Who  dying,  and  resolved  mto  the  same 
Obliterated  Earth  from  which  he  came 
Was  for  the  Potter  dug,  and  chased  in  turn 
Through  long  Vicissitude  of  Bowl  and  Urn : 
But  howsoever  moulded,  still  the  Pain 
Of  that  first  mortal  Anguish  would  retain, 
And  cast,  and  re-cast,  for  a  Thousand  years 
Would  turn  the  sweetest  Water  into  Tears. 

THE   BIRD   PARLIAMENT. 


FOREWORD 


S  originally  printed  An  Aftermath  was 
the  iirst  of  two  papers  contributed  to 
Blackwood's  Magazine^  for  November, 
1889,  and  March,  1891,  which,  "a 
good  deal  extended,"  were  reissued  in  1895,  under 
the  title  of  Tzuo  Suffolk  Friends ^  From  the  brief 
Preface  to  the  revised  work,  now  out  of  print,  it  is 
clear  that  Groome  rightly  estimated  the  relative 
value  and  importance  of  his  material :  "  these  two 
papers,  I  think,  will  be  welcome  to  many  in  East 
Anglia  who  knew  my  father,  and  to  more,  the 
world  over,  who  know  FitzGerald's  letters  and 
translations."^ 


>  Two  SuFl'OLK  Friends.  By  Francis  Hiiides  Groome.  Wil- 
liam Blackwood  and  Sons.  Edinburgh  and  London,  mdcccxcv. 
Quarto.  Pp.  xii+133.  [A  Suffolk  Parson,  pp.  1-64;  Edward 
FitzGerald:  An  Aftermath,  pp.  65-133.] 

»  With  all  due  allowance  for  the  interesting  details  of  old  Suffolk 
life  preserved  in  the  article  on  Robert  Ilindes  Groome  it  docs  not 


FORE  WORD 


The  nature  and  extent  of  this  delightful  causerie 
was  also  set  forth  in  an  early  paragraph  :  ' '  from 
my  own  recollections  of  FitzGerald  himself,  but 
still  more  of  my  father's  frequent  talk  of  him, 
from  some  notes  and  fragments  that  have  escaped 
hebdomadal  burnings,  from  a  visit  I  paid  to 
Woodbridge  in  the  summer  of  1889,  ^^*^  from 
reminiscences  and  unpublished  letters  furnished  by 
friends  of  FitzGerald,  I  purpose  to  weave  a  patch- 
work article  which  shall  in  some  ways  supplement 
Mr.  Aldis  Wright's  edition  of  his  Letters." 

Henceforth  it  is  unlikely  that  anything  more  will 
be  added  to  our  knowledge  of  the  master  of  Little 
Grange. 3     His  life,  absolutely  devoid  of  romantic 


as  a  whole  demand  reprinting.  In  "  The  Only  Darter"  and  "  Master 
Charley"  there  is  "the  true  pathos  and  sublime"  which  set  them 
apart,  and  place  their  author  beside  such  acknowledged  masters  as 
Richard  Jefferies  and  Dr.  Jessopp. 

3  "  His  love  of  music  was  one  of  his  earliest  passions,  and  remained 
with  him  to  the  last.  I  cannot  refrain  from  quoting  some  recollec- 
tions of  the  late  Archdeacon  Groome,  a  friend  of  his  College  days, 
and  so  near  a  neighbour  in  later  life  that  few  letters  passed  between 
them.  '  He  was  a  true  musician  ;  not  that  he  was  a  great  performer 
on  any  instrument,  but  that  he  so  truly  appreciated  all  that  was  good 
and  beautiful  in  music.  He  was  a  good  performer  on  the  piano,  and 
could  get  such  full  harmonies  out  of  the  organ  that  stood  in  one 
corner  of  his  entrance  room  at  Little  Grange  as  did  good  to  the 
listener.    Sometimes  it  would  be  a  bit  from  one  of  Mozart's  Masses, 


FORE  WORD 


happenings,  can  serve  no  valid  attempt  at  "  making 
copy"  which  will  throw  new  light  on  such  harmless 
far-niente  existence.  Call  him  if  you  must,  "an 
eccentric  man  of  genius  who  took  more  pains  to 


or  from  one  of  the  finales  of  some  one  of  his  or  Beethoven's  Operas. 
And  then  at  times  he  would  fill  up  the  harmonies  with  his  voice, 
true  and  resonant  almost  to  the  last.  I  have  heard  him  say,  "  Did 
you  never  observe  how  an  Italian  organ-grinder  will  sometimes  put 
in  a  few  notes  of  his  own  in  such  perfect  keeping  with  the  air  which 
he  was  grinding.'"  He  was  not  a  great,  but  he  was  a  good  com- 
poser. Some  of  his  songs  have  been  printed,  and  many  still  remain 
in  manuscript.  Then  what  pleasant  talk  I  have  had  with  him  about 
the  singers  of  our  early  years ;  never  forgetting  to  speak  of  Mrs. 
Frere  of  Downing,  as  the  most  perfect  private  singer  we  had  ever 
heard.  And  so  indeed  she  was.  Who  that  had  ever  heard  her  sing 
Handel's  songs  can  ever  forget  the  purity  of  her  phrasing  and  the 
pathos  of  her  voice  ?  She  had  no  particle  of  vanity  in  her,  and  yet 
she  would  say, "  Of  course,  I  can  sing  Handel.  I  was  a  pupil  of  John 
Sail,  and  he  was  a  pupil  of  Handel."  To  her  old  age  she  still 
retained  the  charm  of  musical  expression,  though  her  voice  was  but 
a  thread.  And  so  we  spoke  of  her;  two  old  men  with  all  the  enthu- 
siastic admiration  of  fifty  years  ago.  Pleasant  was  it  also  to  hear 
him  speak  of  the  public  singers  of  those  early  days.  Braham,  so 
great,  spite  of  his  vulgarity ;  Miss  Stephens,  so  sweet  to  listen  to, 
though  she  had  no  voice  of  power;  and  poor  Vaughan,  who  had  so 
feeble  a  voice,  and  yet  was  always  called  "  such  a  chaste  singer." 
How  he  would  roar  with  laughter,  when  I  would  imitate  Vaughan 
singing 

"  His  hkldeus  {sic)  love  provokes  my  rage, 
Weak  as  I  am,  I  must  engage," 

from  Acis  and  Galatea.  Then  too  his  reminiscences  of  the  said 
Acis  and  Galatea  as  given  at  the  Concerts  for  Ancient  Music.     "I 


FORE  WORD 


avoid  fame  than  others  do  to  seek  it";  add  that 
he  had  a  very  genuine  horror  of  self-laudation ; 
then  fancy  what  a  systematic  biography  would 
mean  to  him  !  Whatever  might  be  urged  in  Thack- 
eray's case,  we  shall  do  well  to  rest  content  with 


can  see  them  now,  the  dear  old  creeters  with  the  gold  eye-glasses  and 
their  turbans,  noddling  their  heads  as  they  sang 

O  tlie  pleasures  of  the  plains  !  " 

'  These  old  creeters  being,  as  he  said,  the  sopranos  who  had  sung 
first  as  girls,  when  George  the  Third  was  king. 

'  He  was  a  great  lover  of  our  old  English  composers,  specially  of 
Shield.  Handel,  he  said,  has  a  scroll  in  his  marble  hand  in  the 
Abbey  on  which  are  written  the  first  bars  of 

"  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth  ;  " 

and  Shield  should  hold  a  like  scroll,  only  on  it  should  be  written  the 
first  bars  of 

"A  flaxen-headed  ploughboy." 

'  He  was  fond  of  telling  a  story  of  Handel,  which  I,  at  least,  have 
never  seen  in  print.  When  Handel  was  blind  he  composed  his 
"Samson,"  in  which  there  is  that  most  touching  of  all  songs,  spe- 
cially to  any  one  whose  powers  of  sight  are  waning  —  "Total 
Eclipse."  Mr.  Beard  was  the  great  tenor  singer  of  the  day,  who 
was  to  sing  this  song.  Handel  sent  for  him.  "Mr.  Beard,"  he  said, 
"  I  cannot  sing  it  as  it  should  be  sung,  but  I  can  tell  you  how  it 
ought  to  be  sung."  And  then  he  sang  it,  with  what  strange  pathos 
need  not  be  told.  Beard  stood  listening,  and  when  it  was  finished 
said,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  But  Mr.  Handel,  I  can  never  sing  it  like 
that."  And  so  he  would  tell  the  story  with  tears  in  his  voice,  such 
as  those  best  remember,  who  ever  heard  him  read  some  piece  of  his 
dear  old  Crabbe,  and  break  down  in  the  reading.'  "  —  See  W.  Aldis 
Wright's  Preface  to  '  Letters,'  Vol.  i:  x-xii,  (1889). 


FORE  WORD 


FitzGerald's  letters  supplemented,  currentc  calatiio, 
by  Groome's  friendly  half-length  "Kit-Kat."'' 

On  the  other  hand  "The  Tarno  Rye"  himself 
possessed  what  seems  so  strangely  absent  in  his 
world-renowned  subject ;  here  a  very  remarkable 
human  document  may  yet  be  given  us,  revealing, 
as  may  be  inferred  from  Mr.  Watts-Dunton's 
appreciation  a  rare  personality  known  only  to  the 
elect  few. 

A  few  words  concerning  our  illustrations,  col- 
lected at  the  writer's  request  by  Mr.  John  Loders 
may  not  be  considered  out  of  place,  forming  as  they 
do  an  interesting  series  and  the  one  thing  requisite 
to  render  An  Aftermath  of  permanent  acceptability 
to  all  lovers  of  FitzGerald  "  the  world  over."     The 


4  "  The  life  of  FitzGerald  is  written  in  his  letters,  and  no  memoir 
of  such  a  man,  whether  'dapper'  in  his  own  delightful  style,  or  the 
perfunctory  effusion  of  the  official  biographer,  can  be  other  than 
unwelcome  to  those  who  really  understand  his  character.  Since 
this  was  written,  Mr.  Glyde's  '  Memoir  of  FitzGerald'  has  made  its 
appearance.  Though  drawn  up  with  the  best  intentions,  it  has  not 
induced  me  to  alter  the  opinion  which  I  have  expressed."  —  See 
Col.  Prideaux's  'Notes  for  a  Bibliography  of  Edward  FitzGerald' 
(London, 1901)  p. 72. 

5  To  whom  FitzGerald  pleasantly  refers  in  a  letter  to  W.  Aldis 
Wright  under  date  of  May,  i<S83:  "I  shall  try  for  Robert  Groome 
to  meet  him,"  (Charles  Keene,)  "  and  Loder  is  a  Rock  of  Ages  to 
rely  on."  —  'More  Letters,'  p.  283  (1901). 


FORE  WORD 


portrait  of  Mary  Frances  FitzGerald^  reproduced 
from  the  rare  mezzotint,  is  in  itself  a  reproduction 
in  black  and  white  of  the  original  painting  by  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence,  and  so  far  as  we  are  aware 
has  never  before  been  made  public.  The  alleged 
resemblance  between  mother  and  son  is  here  seen 
to  have  a  foundation  in  fact.  Groome's  photograph 
is  delightfull}^  characteristic  of  the  Scholar  Gipsy ; 
the  unconcern  of  the  man,  his  lack  of  pose,  make 
a  mere  snap-shot  unique  in  its  way  :  the  equally 


6  "  My  sister  Lusia's  Widower  has  sent  me  a  drawing  by  Sir  T. 
Lawrence  of  my  Mother:  bearing  a  surprising  resemblance  to  —  The 
Duke  of  Wellington.  This  was  done  in  her  earlier  days  —  I  suppose 
not  long  after  I  was  born  —  for  her,  and  his  (Lawrence's)  friend  Mrs. 
Wolff :  and  though  I  think  too  Wellingtonian,  the  only  true  likeness 
of  her.  Engravings  were  made  of  it  —  so  good  as  to  be  facsimiles,  I 
think  —  to  be  given  away  to  Friends.  'Letters  to  Fanny  Kemble.' 
P.  177.    March  26,  1880.    Earlier  (Feb.  27,  1872)  he  had  written  her. 

"  She  was  a  remarkable  woman,  as  you  said  in  a  former  letter,  and 
as  I  constantly  believe  in  o\itward  Beauty  —  as  an  Inde.x  of  a  Beau- 
tiful Soul  within,  I  used  sometimes  to  wonder  which  feature  in  her 
fine  face  betrayed  what  was  not  so  good  in  her  Character.  I  think 
(as  usual)  the  Lips:  there  was  a  trait  of  Mischief  about  them  now 
and  then,  like  that  in  —  the  Tail  of  a  Cat  I  —  otherwise  so  smooth 
and  amiable." 

"  I  remember  her  very  well  more  than  sixty  years  ago !  She 
used  to  drive  up  to  my  father's  in  her  carriage  with  four  superb 
black  horses.  .  .  .  She  was  very  partial  to  my  father  and  a  good 
customer  as  well.  She  was  rather  a  short  woman,  —  you  would 
hardly  think  that  from  the  portrait,  —  but  used  to  sit  very  highly 
cushioned  in  her  carriage  and  thus  make  the  most  of  herself."  —  J.  L. 


FORE  WORD 


excellent  likeness  of  his  dog,  who  bears  him  faith- 
ful company,  must  go  down  in  canine  portraiture 
along  with  Rab  and  Geist  and  the  other  immortal 
dogs  of  literary  masters. 

An  unpublished  letter,  reproduced  in  facsimile, 
was  written  to  one  Ablett  Pasifull,  an  old  seafaring 
man  still  living.  Even  the  book-plate,  "done  by 
Thackeray  one  day  in  Coram  Street  in  1842," 
in  which  the  likeness  is  supposed  to  be  that  of 
Mrs.  Brookfield,  "all  wrong  on  her  feet,  so  he 
said,"  finds  its  appropriate  place  inside  our  covers. 
Taken  as  a  whole  we  have  aimed  to  present  a  little 
picture-cycle  from  birthplace  through  the  scenes  of 
daily  life  down  to  the  last  scene  of  all  —  Boulge 
churchyard  with  its  profound  inscription — "//  is 
He  that  hath  made  us,  and  not  ive  ourselves.'''' 

It  was  at  Bredfield  '  Hall '  or  '  House,'  the  terms 
seem  interchangeable,  that  FitzGerald  was  born, 
where  from  upper  windows  as  a  child  he  saw  the 
masts  of  ships  at  sea  in  Hollesley  Bay.  Contri- 
butions of  collateral  interest  have  been  included 
in  this  reissue  of  An  Aftermath  as  for  example, 
FitzGerald's  minor  poems,  which  are  surely  in 
keeping    with  the  field-paths   and   green   lanes   of 


FORE  WORD 


Woodbridge  and  vicinity.  The  notes  on  Lamb 
are  also  well  to  reprint;  — while  not  to  have  given 
Archdeacon  Groome's  The  Only  Darter  ^  and 
'^'^ Master  Charley  "  which  constitute  his  surest  pass- 
port to  the  love  and  gratitude  of  every  reader  into 
whose  hands  they  may  come,  would  have  been  a 
lamentable  omission.  Both  stories  belong  to  our 
readers.  The  first  and  best  known  was  reprinted 
as  will  be  seen  by  Mr.  John  Loder  (may  he  out- 
live us  all  !)  for  FitzGerald ;  the  second  is  fully  its 
equal :  together  they  are  examples  of  that  exquisite 
knowledge  and  charity  which  is  no  other  than 
Love  Divine  made  manifest  in  the  man  who  could 
write  them  down,  and  the  poor  Suffolk  yeomen 
whose  experiences  they  narrate.     That  E.  F.  G. 


7  In  a  letter  to  W.  Aldis  Wright  dated  June  ii,  187S,  FitzGerald 
referring  to  Carlyle  and  his  niece  goes  on  to  say :  "  I  sent  them 
Groome's  '  Only  Darter'  which  I  think  so  good  that  I  shall  get  him 
to  let  me  print  it  for  others  besides  those  of  the  Ipswich  Journal:  it 
seems  to  me  a  beautiful  Suffolk  '  Idyll '  (why  not  EidyW  ? )  and  so 
it  seemed  to  those  at  Chelsea." 

A  few  weeks  later  (July  2)  to  C.  E.  Norton  we  read:  "  I  had  sent 
him  (Carlyle)  the  enclosed  paper,  written  by  a  Suffolk  Archdeacon 
for  his  Son's  East  Anglian  Notes  and  Queries :  and  now  reprinted) 
with  his  permission,  by  me,  for  the  benefit  of  others,  yourself  among 
the  number.  ...  If  I  were  in  America,  at  your  home,  I  would  recite 
it  to  you;  nay,  were  the  Telephone  prepared  across  the  Atlantic!" 
'  Letters,'  Vol.  ri,  pp.  252,  253  (1S94). 


FORE  WORD 


loved  such  work  deepens  our  love  for  him.  Finally, 
by  the  inclusion  of  Mr.  Edward  Clodd's  rare  little 
brochure,  of  vvhicli  only  fifty  copies  were  struck 
off  for  private  circulation,  we  bring  to  an  end  our 
volume  of  Memorabilia. 

Having  thus  made  clear  the  scope  and  purpose  of 
these  interesting  and  mutually  related  fcrsonalia 
we  would  fain  close  with  a  few  words  upon  Edward 
FitzGerald  and  three  others  who  were  very  dear 
to  him  :  William  Makepeace  Thackeray,  Thomas 
Carlyle,  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson.  It  was  no  dying 
flame  upon  the  altar  of  Truth  and  Beauty,  one  and 
indivisible,  that  these  men  kindled,  soon  lit  and 
soon  blown  out.  Though  "they  are  all  gone  into 
the  world  of  light,"  they  have  left  behind  them  a 
glory  and  a  gleam  not  quenched  in  dust.  Still  do 
they  voice  in  language  of  essential  unity, 

"The  kind  wise  word  that  falls  from  years  that  fall  — 
Hope  thou  not  much  and  fear  thou  not  at  all." 

It  is  true  the  old  order  changes  slowly.  Wood- 
bridge  retains  its  immemorial  quiet  as  in  the  days 
when  FitzGerald  paced  its  ancient  thoroughfares, 
and  as  of  yore  "  the  Deben  winds  away  in  full  tide 


FORE  WORD 


to  the  sea."  Be  not  forgetful  of  him,  little  town  ! 
In  his  secret  heart  he  loved  your  fast-fading 
Old-world  quaintnesses :  you  gave  him  of  your 
serenity,  and  he  accepted  it.  To  us,  who  come  on 
pilgrimage  and  presently  depart,  grant  the  like 
blessedness  of  unhaste,  "when  lights  are  low  and 
tides  are  out,"  that  once  was  his,  who  now  has 
deeper,  elemental  peace  : 

"The  night  in  her  silence, 
The  stars  in  their  calm." 


THE    TARNO    RYE 


THE  TARNO  RYE 


(FRANCIS    IIINDES    GROOME) 


■^  HAVE  been  invited  by  the  editor  of  the 
Atheficcum  to  write  a  few  words  about  my 
late  friend  and  colleague  Francis  Hindes 
Groome,  who  died  on  January  24th,  1902, 
and  was  buried  among  his  forefathers  at  Monk  Soham  in 
Suffolk.  I  find  the  task  extremely  difficult.  Though  he 
died  at  fifty,  he,  with  the  single  exception  of  Borrow,  had 
lived  more  than  any  other  friend  of  mine,  and  perhaps 
suffered  more.  Indeed,  his  was  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able and  romantic  literary  lives  that,  since  Sorrow's,  have 
been  lived  in  my  time. 

The  son  of  an  Archdeacon  of  Suffolk,  he  was  born  on 
August  30th,  185 1,  at  Monk  Soham  Rectory,  where,  I 
believe,  his  father  and  his  grandfather  were  born,  and 
where  they  certainly  lived;  for  —  as  has  been  recorded 
in  one  of  the  invaluable  registry  books  of  my  friend  Mr. 
F,  A.  Crisp  —  he  belonged  to  one  of  the  oldest  and  most 


THE    TARNO    RYE 


distinguished  families  in  Suffolk.  He  was  sent  early  to 
Ipswich  School,  where  he  was  a  very  popular  boy,  but 
never  strong  and  never  fond  of  athletic  exercises.  His 
early  taste  for  literature  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  with 
his  boy  friend  Henry  Elliot  Maiden  he  originated  a  school 
magazine  called  the  Elizabetha7i.  Like  many  an  organ 
originated  in  the  outer  world,  the  Elizabdhaji  failed 
because  it  would  not,  or  could  not,  bring  itself  into  har- 
mony with  the  public  taste.  The  boys  wanted  news  of 
cricket  and  other  games :  Groome  and  his  assistant  editor 
gave  them  literature  as  far  as  it  was  in  their  power  to  do 
so.  The  Ipswich  School  was  a  very  good  one  for  those 
who  got  into  the  sixth,  as  Groome  did.  The  head  master, 
Dr.  Holden,  was  a  very  fine  scholar ;  and  it  is  no  wonder 
that  Groome  throughout  his  life  showed  a  considerable 
knowledge  of  and  interest  in  classical  literature.  That 
he  had  a  real  insight  into  the  structure  of  Latin  verse  is 
seen  by  a  rendering  of  Tennyson's  'Tithonus,'  which  Mr. 
Maiden  has  been  so  very  good  as  to  show  me  —  a  render- 
ing for  which  he  got  a  prize.  In  1869  he  got  prizes  for 
classical  literature,  Latin  prose,  Latin  elegiacs,  and  Latin 
hexameters.  But  if  Dr.  Holden  exercised  much  influence 
over  Groome's  taste,  the  assistant  master,  Mr.  Sanderson, 
certainly  exercised  more,  for  Mr.  Sanderson  was  an 
enthusiastic  student  of  Romany.  The  influence  of  the 
assistant  master  was  soon  seen  after  Groome  went  up  to 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


Oxford.  He  was  ploughed  for  his  "  Smalls,"  and,  remain- 
ing up  for  part  of  the  "Long,"  he  went  one  night  to  a 
fair  at  Oxford  at  which  many  gipsies  were  present  —  an 
incident  which  forms  an  important  part  of  his  gipsy  story 
'  Kriegspiel.'  Groome  at  once  struck  up  an  acquaintance 
with  the  gipsies  at  the  fair.  It  occurred  also  that  Mr. 
Sanderson,  after  Groome  had  left  Ipswich  School,  used 
to  go  and  stay  at  Monk  Sohani  Rectory  every  summer  for 
fishing;  and  this  tended  to  focus  Groome's  interest  in 
Romany  matters.  At  Gottingen,  where  he  afterwards 
went,  he  found  himself  in  a  kind  of  Romany  atmosphere, 
for,  owing  perhaps  to  Benfey's  having  been  a  Gottingen 
man,  Romany  matters  were  still  somewhat  rife  there  in 
certain  sets. 

The  period  from  his  leaving  Gottingen  to  his  appear- 
ance in  Edinburgh  in  1876  as  a  working  literary  man  of 
amazing  activity,  intelligence,  and  knowledge  is  the  period 
that  he  spent  among  the  gipsies.  And  it  is  this  very 
period  of  wild  adventure  and  romance  that  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  dwell  upon  here.  But  on  some  future  occasion 
I  hope  to  write  something  about  his  adventures  as  a 
Romany  Rye,  His  first  work  was  on  the  'Globe  Encyclo- 
paedia,' edited  by  Dr.  John  Ross.  Even  at  that  time  he 
was  very  delicate  and  subject  to  long  wearisome  periods  of 
illness.  During  his  work  on  the  '  Globe '  he  fell  seriously 
ill  in  the  middle  of  the  letter  .S".     Things  were  going  very 


THE    TAR  NO    EYE 


badly  with  him ;  but  they  would  have  gone  much  worse 
had  it  not  been  for  the  affection  and  generosity  of  his 
friend  and  colleague  Prof.  H.  A.  Webster,  who,  in  order 
to  get  the  work  out  in  time,  sat  up  night  after  night  in 
Groome's  room,  writing  articles  on  Sterne,  Voltaire,  and 
other  subjects.  Webster's  kindness,  and  afterwards  the 
kindness  of  Dr.  Patrick,  endeared  Edinburgh  and  Scotland 
to  the  "Tarno  Rye."  As  Webster  was  at  that  time  on  the 
staff  of  the  '  Encyclopaedia  Brittanica,'  I  think,  but  I  do  not 
know,  that  it  was  through  him  that  Groome  got  the  com- 
mission to  write  his  article  '  Gypsies  '  in  that  stupendous 
work.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  the  most  important, 
but  I  do  know  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  thorough  and 
conscientious  articles  in  the  entire  encyclopaedia.  This 
was  followed  by  his  being  engaged  by  Messrs.  Jack  to 
edit  the  'Ordnance  Gazetteer  of  Scotland,'  a  splendid 
work,  which  on  its  completion  was  made  the  subject  of  a 
long  and  elaborate  article  in  t\\e  Aihenceum  —  an  article 
which  was  a  great  means  of  directing  attention  to  him, 
as  he  always  declared.  Anyhow,  people  now  began  to 
inquire  about  Groome.  In  1880  he  brought  out  'In  Gypsy 
Tents,'  which  I  shall  describe  further  on.  In  1885  he  was 
chosen  to  join  the  staff  of  Messrs.  W.  &  R.  Chambers. 
It  is  curious  to  think  of  the  "Tarno  Rye,"  perhaps  the 
most  variously  equipped  literar}^  man  in  Europe,  after  such 
adventures  as  his,  sitting  from  ten  to  four  every  day  on 


THE    TARNO    RYE 


the  sub-editorial  stool.  He  was  perfectly  content  on  that 
stool,  however,  owing  to  the  genial  kindness  of  his  col- 
league. As  sub-editor  under  Dr.  Patrick,  and  also  as  a 
very  copious  contributor,  he  took  part  in  the  preparation 
of  the  new  edition  of  'Chambers's  Encyclopcedia.'  He 
took  a  large  part  also  in  preparing  '  Chambers's  Gazetteer ' 
and  'Chambers's  Biographical  Dictionary.'  Meanwhile 
he  was  writing  articles  in  the  'Dictionary  of  National 
Biography,'  articles  in  Blackwood^ s  Magazine  and  the 
Bookman,  and  also  reviews  upon  special  subjects  in  the 
Athenaum. 

This  was  followed  in  1887  by  a  short  Border  history, 
crammed  with  knowledge.  In  1895  his  name  became 
really  familiar  to  the  general  reader  by  his  delightful  little 
volume  '  Two  Suffolk  Friends'  —  sketches  of  his  father  and 
his  father's  friend  Edward  FitzGerald  —  full  of  humour 
and  admirable  character-drawing. 

In  1896  he  published  his  Romany  novel  'Kriegspiel,' 
which  did  not  meet  with  anything  like  the  success  it 
deserved,  although  I  must  say  he  was  himself  in  some 
degree  answerable  for  its  comparative  failure.  The  origin 
of  the  story  was  this.  Shortly  after  our  intimacy  I  told 
him  that  I  had  written  a  gipsy  story  dealing  with  the  East 
Anglian  gipsies  and  the  Welsh  gipsies,  but  that  it  had 
been  so  dinned  into  me  by  Borrow  that  in  England  there 
was  no  interest  in  the  gipsies  that  I  had  never  found  heart 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


to  publish  it.  Groome  urged  me  to  let  him  read  it,  and 
he  did  read  it,  as  far  as  it  was  then  complete,  and  took 
an  extremely  kind  view  of  it,  and  urged  me  to  bring  it 
out.  But  now  came  another  and  a  new  cause  for  delay  in 
my  bringing  out  'Aylwin':  Groome  himself,  who  at  that 
time  knew  more  about  Romany  matters  than  all  other 
Romany  students  of  my  acquaintance  put  together,  showed 
a  remarkable  gift  as  a  raconteur,  and  I  felt  quite  sure  that 
he  could,  if  he  set  to  work,  write  a  Romany  story  —  the 
Romany  story  of  the  English  language.  He  strongly 
resisted  the  idea  for  a  long  time  — for  two  or  three  years 
at  least  —  and  he  was  only  persuaded  to  undertake  the 
task  at  last  by  my  telling  him  that  I  would  never  bring 
out  my  story  until  he  brought  out  one  himself.  At  last  he 
yielded,  told  me  of  a  plot,  a  capital  one,  and  set  to  work 
upon  it.  When  it  was  finished  he  sent  the  manuscript  to 
me,  and  I  read  it  through  with  the  greatest  interest,  and 
also  the  greatest  care,  I  found,  as  I  expected  to  find, 
that  the  gipsy  chapters  were  simply  perfect,  and  that  it 
was  altogether  an  extremely  clever  romance ;  but  I  felt 
also  that  Groome  had  given  no  attention  whatever  to  the 
structure  of  a  story.  Incidents  of  the  most  striking  and 
original  kind  were  introduced  at  the  wrong  places,  and  this 
made  them  interesting  no  longer.  So  persuaded  was  I 
that  the  story  only  needed  recasting  to  prove  a  real  success 
that  I  devoted  days,  and  even  weeks,  to  going  through 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


the  novel,  and  indicating  where  the  transpositions  should 
take  place,  Groome,  however,  had  got  so  entirely  sick 
of  his  novel  before  he  had  completed  it  that  he  refused 
absolutely  to  put  another  hour's  work  into  it;  for,  as  he 
said,  "the  writing  of  it  had  already  been  a  loss  to  the 
pantry."  He  sent  it,  as  it  was,  to  an  eminent  firm  of 
publishers,  who,  knowing  Groome  and  his  abilities,  would 
have  willingly  taken  it  if  they  had  seen  their  way  to  do 
so.  But  they  could  not,  for  the  very  reasons  that  had 
induced  me  to  recast  it,  and  they  declined  it.  The  book 
was  then  sent  round  to  publisher  after  publisher  with  the 
same  result ;  and  yet  there  was  more  fine  substance  in 
this  novel  than  in  five  ordinary  stories.  It  was  at  last 
through  the  good  offices  of  Mr.  Coulson  Kernahan  that 
it  was  eventually  taken  by  Messrs.  Ward  &  Lock ;  and, 
although  it  won  warm  eulogies  from  such  great  writers  as 
George  Meredith,  it  never  made  its  way.  Its  failure 
distressed  me  far  more  than  it  distressed  Groome,  for  I 
loved  the  man,  and  knew  what  its  success  would  have 
been  to  him.  Amiable  and  charming  as  Groome  was,  there 
was  in  him  a  singular  vein  of  dogged  obstinacy  after  he 
had  formed  an  opinion  ;  and  he  not  only  refused  to  recast 
his  story,  but  refused  to  abandon  the  absurd  name  of 
'  Kriegspiel '  for  a  volume  of  romantic  gipsy  adventure. 
I  suspect  that  a  large  proportion  of  people  who  asked  for 
*  Kriegspiel '  at  Mudie's  and  Smith's  consisted  of  officers 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


who  thought  that  it  was  a  book  on  the  German  war  game. 
I  tried  to  persuade  him  to  begin  another  gipsy  novel, 
but  found  it  quite  impossible  to  do  so.  But  even  then  I 
waited  before  bringing  out  my  own  prose  story.  I  pub- 
lished instead  my  poem  in  which  was  told  the  story  of 
Rhona  Boswell,  which,  to  my  own  surprise  and  Groome's, 
had  a  success,  notwithstanding  its  gipsy  subject.  Then 
I  brought  out  my  gipsy  story,  and  accepted  its  success 
rather  ungratefully,  remembering  how  the  greatest  gipsy 
scholar  in  the  world  had  failed  in  this  line.  In  1899  he 
published  '  Gypsy  Folk-Tales,'  in  which  he  got  the  aid  of 
the  first  Romany  scholar  now  living,  Mr.  John  Sampson. 
And  this  was  followed  in  1 901  by  his  edition  of  '  Lavengro,' 
which,  notwithstanding  certain  unnecessary  carpings  at 
Borrow  —  such,  for  instance,  as  the  assertion  that  the  word 
"dock"  is  never  used  in  Anglo-Romany  for  "ghost"  — 
is  beyond  any  doubt  the  best  edition  of  the  book  ever 
published.  The  introduction  gives  sketches  of  all  the 
Romany  Ryes  and  students  of  Romany,  from  Andrew 
Boorde  {c.  1490-15 49)  down  to  Mr.  G.  R.  Sims  and  Mr. 
David  MacRitchie.  During  this  time  it  was  becoming 
painfully  perceptible  to  me  that  his  physical  powers  were 
waning,  although  for  two  years  that  decadence  seemed  to 
have  no  effect  upon  his  mental  powers.  But  at  last,  while 
he  was  working  on  a  book  in  which  he  took  the  deepest 
interest  —  the  new  edition  of  'Chambers's  Cyclopedia  of 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


English  Literature  '  —  it  became  manifest  that  the  general 
physical  depression  was  sapping  the  forces  of  the  brain. 

But  it  is  personal  reminiscences  of  Groome  that  I  have 
been  invited  to  write,  and  I  have  not  yet  even  begun 
upon  these.  Our  close  friendship  dated  no  further  back 
than  1881  — the  year  in  which  died  the  great  "Romany 
Rye."  Indeed,  it  was  owing  to  Borrow's  death,  coupled 
with  Groome's  interest  in  that  same  Romany  girl  Sinfi 
Lovell,  whom  the  eloquent  Romany  preacher  "Gipsy 
Smith "  has  lately  been  expatiating  upon  to  immense 
audiences,  that  I  first  became  acquainted  with  Groome. 
Although  he  has  himself  in  some  magazine  told  the  story, 
it  seems  necessary  for  me  to  retell  it  here,  for  I  know  of 
no  better  way  of  giving  the  readers  of  the  Athenccum  a 
picture  of  Frank  Groome  as  he  lives  in  my  mind. 

It  was  in  1881  that  Borrow,  who  some  seven  years 
before  went  down  to  Oulton,  as  he  told  me,  "  to  die," 
achieved  death.  And  it  devolved  upon  me  as  the  chief 
friend  of  his  latest  years  to  write  an  obituary  notice  of 
him  in  the  Athemeinn.  Among  the  many  interesting 
letters  that  it  brought  me  from  strangers  was  one  from 
Groome,  whose  name  was  familiar  to  me  as  the  author  of 
the  article  'Gypsies' in  the  'Encyclopaedia  Britannica.' 
But  besides  this  I  had  read  '  In  Gypsy  Tents,'  a  picture 
of  the  very  kind  of  gipsies  I  knew  myself,  those  of  East 
Anglia  —  a  picture  whose  photographic  truth  had  quite 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


startled  me.  Howsoever  much  of  matter  of  fact  may  be 
worked  into  '  Lavengro '  (and  to  no  one  did  Borrow  talk 
with  so  little  reticence  upon  this  delicate  subject  as  to  me 
during  many  a  stroll  about  Wimbledon  Common  and 
Richmond  Park),  I  am  certain  that  his  first-hand  knowl- 
edge of  gipsy  life  was  quite  superficial  compared  with 
Groome's  during  the  nine  years  or  so  that  he  was  brought 
into  contact  with  them  in  Great  Britain  and  on  the 
Continent.  Hence  a  book  like  '  In  Gypsy  Tents '  has 
for  a  student  of  Romany  subjects  an  interest  altogether 
different  from  that  which  Sorrow's  books  command ;  for 
while  Borrow,  the  man  of  genius,  throws  by  the  very 
necessities  of  his  temperament  the  colours  of  romance 
around  his  gipsies,  the  characters  of  '  In  Gypsy  Tents,' 
depicted  by  a  man  of  remarkable  talent  merely,  are  as 
realistic  as  though  painted  by  Zola,  while  the  wealth  of 
gipsy  lore  at  his  command  is  simply  overwhelming.  At 
that  time  —  with  the  exception  of  Borrow  and  the  late  Sir 
Richard  Burton, —  the  only  man  of  letters  with  whom  I 
had  been  brought  into  contact  who  knew  anything  about 
the  gipsies  was  Tom  Taylor,  whose  picture  of  Romany  life 
in  an  anonymous  story  called  '  Gypsy  Experiences,'  which 
appeared  in  the  Illustrated  London  Neius  in  1851,  and  in 
his  play  '  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,'  is  not  only  fascinating, 
but  on  the  whole  true.  By-the-by,  this  charming  play 
might  be  revived  now  that  there  is  a  revived  interest  in 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


n 


Romany  matters.  Mr.  George  Meredith's  wonderful 
'  Kiomi '  was  a  picture,  I  think,  of  the  only  Romany  chi 
he  knew ;  but  genius  such  as  his  needs  little  straw  for 
the  making  of  bricks.  The  letter  I  received  from 
Groonie  enclosed  a  ragged  and  well-worn  cutting  from  a 
forgotten  anonymous  At/ien<eum  article  of  mine,  written 
as  far  back  as  1877,  in  which  I  showed  acquaintance 
with  gipsydom  and  described  the  ascent  of  Snowdon  in 
the  company  of  Sinfi  Lovell,  which  was  afterwards 
removed  bodily  to  '  Aylwin.'     Here  is  the  cutting :  — 

"We  had  a  striking  instance  of  this  some  years  ago, 
when  crossing  Snowdon  from  Capel  Curig,  one  morning, 
with  a  friend.  She  was  not  what  is  technically  called  a 
lady,  yet  she  was  both  tall  and,  in  her  way,  handsome, 
and  was  far  more  clever  than  many  of  those  who  might 
look  down  upon  her  ;  for  her  speculative  and  her  practical 
abilities  were  equally  remarkable  :  besides  being  the  first 
palmist  of  her  time,  she  had  the  reputation  of  being  able 
to  make  more  clothes-pegs  in  an  hour,  and  sell  more, 
than  any  other  woman  in  England.  The  splendour  of 
that  '  Snowdon  sunrise  '  was  such  as  we  can  say,  from 
much  experience,  can  only  be  seen  about  once  in  a  life- 
time, and  could  never  be  given  by  any  pen  or  pencil. 
'  You  don't  seem  to  enjoy  it  a  bit,'  was  the  irritated 
remark  we  could  not  help  making  to  our  friend,  who 
stood  finite  silent  and   apjiarcntly  deaf  to  tiie   raplisodies 


H 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


in  which  we  had  been  indulging,  as  we  both  stood  looking 
at  the  peaks,  or  rather  at  the  vast  masses  of  billowy 
vapours  enveloping  them,  as  they  sometimes  boiled  and 
sometimes  blazed,  shaking,  whenever  the  sun  struck  one 
and  then  another,  from  amethyst  to  vermilion,  '  shot ' 
now  and  then  with  gold.  '  Don't  injiy  it,  don't  I  ? '  said 
she,  removing  her  pipe.  '  You  injiy  talking  about  it,  / 
injiy  lettin'  it  soak  in.'  " 

Groome  asked  whether  the  gipsy  mentioned  in  the 
cutting  was  not  a  certain  Romany  chi  whom  he  named, 
and  said  that  he  had  always  wondered  who  the  writer  of 
that  article  was,  and  that  now  he  wondered  no  longer, 
for  he  knew  him  to  be  the  writer  of  the  obituary  notice  of 
George  Borrow.  Interested  as  I  was  in  his  letter,  it  came 
at  a  moment  when  the  illness  of  a  very  dear  friend  of 
mine  threw  most  other  things  out  of  my  mind,  and  it  was 
a  good  while  before  I  answered  it,  and  told  him  what  I 
had  to  tell  about  my  Welsh  gipsy  experiences  and  the 
adventure  on  Snowdon.  I  got  another  letter  from  him, 
and  this  was  the  beginning  of  a  charming  correspond- 
ence. After  a  while  I  discovered  that  there  were,  besides 
Romany  matters,  other  points  of  attraction  between  us. 
Groome  was  the  son  of  Edward  FitzGerald's  intimate 
friend  Robert  Hindes  Groome,  Archdeacon  of  Suffolk. 
Now  long  before  the  great  vogue  of  Omar  Khayyam,  and, 
of    course,    long   before    the   institution    of    the    Omar 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


15 


Khayyam  Club,  there  was  a  little  group  of  Omarians  of 
which  I  was  a  member.  I  need  not  say  here  who  were 
the  others  of  that  group,  but  it  was  to  them  I  alluded  in 
the  '  Toast  to  Omar  Khayyam,'  which  years  afterwards  I 
printed  in  the  Aihenieiim  and  have  since  reprinted  in  a 
volume  of  mine. 

After  a  while  it  was  arranged  that  he  was  to  come  and 
visit  us  for  a  few  days  at  The  Pines.  When  it  got  wind 
in  the  little  household  here  that  another  Romany  Rye,  a 
successor  to  George  Borrow,  was  to  visit  us,  and  when  it 
further  became  known  that  he  had  travelled  with  Hun- 
garian gipsies,  Roumanian  gipsies,  Roumelian  gipsies, 
&c.,  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  wild  and  dishevelled 
visitor  was  not  expected.  Instead  of  such  a  guest  there 
appeared  one  of  the  neatest  and  most  quiet  young  gentle- 
men who  had  ever  presented  themselves  at  the  door. 
No  one  could  possibly  have  dared  to  associate  Bohemia 
with  him.  As  a  friend  remarked  who  was  afterwards 
invited  to  meet  him  at  luncheon,  "  Clergyman's  son  — 
suckling  for  the  Church,  was  stamped  upon  him  from 
head  to  foot."  I  will  not  deny  that  so  respectable  a 
looking  Romany  Rye  rather  disappointed  The  Pines  at 
first.  At  that  time  he  was  a  little  over  thirty,  but  owing 
to  his  slender,  graceful  figure,  and  especially  owing  to  his 
lithe  movements  and  elastic  walk,  he  seemed  to  be 
several  years  younger. 


i6 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


The  subject  of  Welsh  gipsies,  and  especially  of  the 
Romany  chi  of  Snowdon,  made  us  intimate  friends  in  half 
an  hour,  and  then  there  were  East  Anglia,  Omar 
Khayyam,  and  Edward  FitzGerald  to  talk  about!  — a 
delightful  new  friend  for  a  man  who  had  so  lately  lost 
the  only  other  Romany  Rye  in  the  world.  Owing  to  his 
youthful  appearance,  I  christened  him  there  and  then  the 
"Tarno  Rye"  in  remembrance  of  that  other  "Tarno 
Rye,"  whom  Rhona  Boswell  loved,  I  soon  found  that, 
great  as  was  the  physical  contrast  between  the  Tarno 
Rye  and  the  original  Romany  Rye,  the  mental  contrast 
was  greater  still.  Both  were  shy — very  shy;  but  while 
Sorrow's  shyness  seemed  to  be  born  of  wariness,  the 
wariness  of  a  man  who  felt  that  he  was  famous  and  had  a 
part  to  play  before  an  inquisitive  world,  Groome's  shyness 
arose  from  a  modesty  that  was  unique. 

As  a  philologist  merely,  to  speak  of  nothing  else,  his 
equipment  was  ten  times  that  of  Borrow,  whose  tempera- 
ment may  be  called  anti-academic,  and  who  really  knew 
nothing  thoroughly.  But  while  Borrow  was  for  ever 
displaying  his  philology,  and  seemed  always  far  prouder 
of  it  than  of  his  fascinating  powers  as  a  writer  of  roman- 
tic adventures,  Groome's  philological  stores,  like  all  his 
other  intellectual  riches,  had  to  be  drawn  from  him  by 
his  interlocutor  if  they  were  to  be  recognised  at  all. 
Whenever  Borrow   enunciated   anything    showing,  as   he 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


17 


thought,  exceptional  philological  knowledge  or  excep- 
tional acquaintance  with  matters  Romany,  it  was  his  way 
always  to  bring  it  out  with  a  sort  of  rustic  twinkle  of 
conscious  superiority,  which  in  its  way,  however,  was 
very  engaging.  From  Groonie,  on  the  contrary,  philolog- 
ical lore  would  drop,  when  it  did  come,  as  unconsciously 
as  drops  of  rain  that  fall.  It  was  the  same  with  his 
knowledge  of  Romany  matters,  which  was  so  vast.  Not 
once  in  all  my  close  intercourse  with  him  did  he  display 
his  knowledge  of  this  subject  save  in  answer  to  some 
inquiry.  The  same  thing  is  to  be  noticed  in  *  Kriegspiel.' 
Romany  students  alone  are  able  by  reading  between  the 
lines  to  discover  how  deep  is  the  hidden  knowledge  of 
Romany  matters,  so  full  is  the  story  of  allusions  which 
are  lost  upon  the  general  reader  — lost,  indeed,  upon  all 
readers  except  the  very  few.  I  have  on  a  former  occasion 
pointed  out  one  or  two  of  these.  For  instance,  the  gipsy 
villain  of  the  story,  Perun,  when  telling  the  tale  of  his 
crime  against  the  father  of  the  hero  who  married  the 
Romany  chi  whom  Perun  had  hoped  to  marry,  makes 
allusion  thus  to  the  dead  woman  :  "And  then  about  her 
as  I  have  named  too  often  to-day."  Had  Borrow  been 
alluding  to  the  Romany  taboo  of  the  names  of  the  dead, 
how  differently  would  he  have  gone  to  work!  how  eager 
would  he  have  been  to  display  and  explain  his  knowledge 
of    this    remarkable    Romany   superstition !      The    same 


THE    TARNO    RYE 


remark  maybe  made  upon  the  gipsy  heroine's  sly  allusion 
in  '  Kriegspiel '  to  "  Squire  Lucas,"  the  Romany  equiva- 
lent of  Baron  Munchausen,  an  allusion  which  none  but  a 
Romany  student  would  understand. 

Before  luncheon  Groome  and  I  took  a  walk  over  the 
common,  and  along  the  Portsmouth  Road,  through  the 
Robin  Hood  Gate  and  across  Richmond  Park,  where 
Borrow  and  I  and  Dr.  Hake  had  so  often  strolled.  I 
wondered  what  the  Gryengroes  whom  Borrow  used  to 
forgather  with  would  have  thought  of  my  new  friend. 
In  personal  appearance  the  two  Romany  Ryes  were  as 
unlike  as  in  every  point  of  character  they  were  unlike. 
Borrow's  giant  frame  made  him  stand  conspicuous 
wherever  he  went,  Groome's  slender,  slight  body  gave  an 
impression  of  great  agility ;  and  the  walk  of  the  two  great 
pedestrians  was  equally  contrasted.  Borrow's  slope  over 
the  ground  with  the  loose,  long  step  of  a  hound  I  have, 
on  a  previous  occasion,  described;  Groome's  walk  was 
springy  as  a  gipsy  lad's,  and  as  noiseless  as  a  cat's. 

Of  course,  the  talk  during  that  walk  ran  very  much  upon 
Borrow,  whom  Groome  had  seen  once  or  twice,  but  whom 
he  did  not  in  the  least  understand.  The  two  men  were 
antipathetic  to  each  other.  It  was  then  that  he  told  me 
how  he  had  first  been  thrown  across  the  gipsies,  and  it 
was  then  that  he  began  to  open  up  to  me  his  wonderful 
record  of  experiences  among  them.     The  talk  during  that 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


'9 


first  out  of  many  most  delightful  strolls  ran  upon  Benfey, 
and  afterwards  upon  all  kinds  of  Romany  matters.  I 
remember  how  warm  he  waxed  upon  his  pet  aversion, 
"  Smith  of  Coalville,"  as  he  called  him,  who,  he  said,  for 
the  purposes  of  a  professional  philanthropist,  had  done 
infinite  mischief  to  the  gipsies  by  confounding  them  with 
all  the  wandering  cockney  raff  from  the  slums  of  London. 

On  my  repeating  to  him  what,  among  other  things,  the 
Romany  chi  before  mentioned  said  to  me  during  the  ascent 
of  Snowdon  from  C'apel  Curig,  that  "  to  make  kairengroes 
(house-dwellers)  of  full-blooded  Romanies  was  impossible, 
because  they  were  the  cuckoos  of  the  human  race,  who 
had  no  desire  to  build  nests,  and  were  pricked  on  to  move 
about  from  one  place  to  another  over  the  earth,"  Groome's 
tongue  became  loosened,  and  he  launched  out  into  a 
monologue  on  this  subject  full  of  learning  and  full,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  of  original  views  upon  the  Romanies. 

As  an  instance  of  the  cuckoo  instincts  of  the  true 
Romany,  he  told  me  that  in  North  America  —  for  which 
land,  alas !  so  many  of  our  best  Romanies  even  in 
Sorrow's  time  were  leaving  Oypsy  Dell  and  the  grassy 
lanes  of  old  England  —  the  gipsies  have  contracted  a 
habit,  which  is  growing  rather  than  waning,  of  migrating 
southward  in  autumn  and  northward  again  in  spring.  He 
then  launched  out  upon  the  subject  of  the  wide  dispersion 
of   iho    Romanies  not  only  in    Europe  —  wherr   they  are 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


found  from  almost  the  extreme  north  to  the  extreme 
south,  and  from  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus  to  the  shores 
of  the  Atlantic  Ocean  —  but  also  from  north  to  south  and 
from  east  to  west  in  Asia,  in  Africa,  from  Egypt  to  the 
very  south  of  the  Soudan,  and  in  America  from  Canada 
to  the  River  Amazon.  And  he  then  went  on  to  show  how 
intensely  migratory  they  were  over  all  these  vast  areas. 

So  absorbing  had  been  the  gipsy  talk  that  I  am  afraid 
the  waiting  luncheon  was  spoilt.  The  little  luncheon 
party  was  composed  of  fervent  admirers  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott  —  bigoted  admirers,  I  fear,  some  of  our  present-day 
critics  would  have  dubbed  us ;  and  it  chanced  that  we  all 
agreed  in  pronouncing  'Guy  Mannering'  to  be  the  most 
fascinating  of  all  the  Wizard's  work.  Of  course  Meg 
Merrilies  became  at  once  the  centre  of  the  talk.  One 
contended  that,  great  as  Meg  was  as  a  woman,  she  was  as 
a  gipsy  a  failure  ;  in  short,  that  Scott's  idea  of  the  Scottish 
gipsy  woman  was  conventional  —  a  fancy  portrait  in  which 
are  depicted  some  of  the  loftiest  characteristics  of  the 
Highland  woman  rather  than  of  the  Scottish  gipsy.  The 
true  Romany  chi  can  be  quite  as  noble  as  Meg  Merrilies, 
said  one,  but  great  in  a  different  way.  From  Meg  Merri- 
lies the  talk  naturally  turned  upon  Jane  Gordon  of  Kirk 
Yetholm,  Meg's  prototype,  who,  when  an  old  woman,  was 
ducked  to  death  in  the  River  Eden  at  Carlisle.  Then 
came  the  subject  of    Kirk  Yetholm  itself,   the   famous 


THE    TARNO    RYE 


headquarters  of  the  Scotch  Romanies ;  and  after  this  it 
naturally  turned  to  Kirk  Yetholm's  most  famous  inhabit- 
ant, old  Will  Faas,  the  gipsy  king,  whose  corpse  was 
escorted  to  Yetholm  by  three  hundred  and  more  donkeys. 
And  upon  all  these  subjects  Groome's  knowledge  was  like 
an  inexhaustible  fountain ;  or  rather  it  was  like  a  tap, 
ready  to  supply  any  amount  of  lore  when  called  upon  to 
do  so. 

But  it  was  not  merely  upon  Romany  subjects  that 
Groome  found  points  of  sympathy  at  The  Pines  during 
that  first  luncheon ;  there  was  that  other  subject  before 
mentioned,  Edward  FitzGerald  and  Omar  Khayyam.  We, 
a  handful  of  Omarians  of  those  antediluvian  days,  were 
perhaps  all  the  more  intense  in  our  cult  because  we 
believed  it  to  be  esoteric.  And  here  was  a  guest  who 
had  been  brought  into  actual  personal  contact  with  the 
wonderful  old  Fitz.  As  a  child  of  eight  he  had  seen 
him  — talked  with  him  — been  patted  on  the  head  by  him. 
Groome's  father,  the  Archdeacon  of  Suffolk,  was  one  of 
FitzGerald's  most  intimate  friends.  This  was  at  once  a 
delightful  and  a  powerful  link  between  Frank  Groome 
and  those  at  the  luncheon  table  ;  and  when  he  heard,  as 
he  soon  did,  the  toast  to  "  Omar  Khayyam,"  none  drank 
that  toast  with  more  gusto  than  he.  The  fact  is,  as  the 
Romanies  say,  that  true  friendship,  like  true  love,  is  apt 
to  begin   at   first  sight.     But  I   must  stop.     Frequently 


THE    TARNO    RYE 


when  the  "  Tarno  Rye  "  came  to  England  his  headquarters 
were  at  The  Pines.  Many  and  delightful  were  the  strolls 
he  and  I  had  together.  One  day  we  went  to  hear  a  gipsy 
band  supposed  to  be  composed  of  Roumelian  gipsies. 
After  we  had  listened  to  several  well-executed  things 
Groome  sauntered  up  to  one  of  the  performers  and  spoke 
to  him  in  Roumelian  Romany.  The  man,  although  he 
did  not  understand  Groome,  knew  that  he  was  speaking 
Romany  of  some  kind,  and  began  speaking  in  Hunga- 
rian Romany,  and  was  at  once  responded  to  by  Groome  in 
that  variety  of  the  Romany  tongue.  Groome  then  turned 
to  another  of  the  performers,  and  was  answered  in  English 
Romany.  At  last  he  found  one,  and  one  only,  in  the  band 
who  was  a  Roumelian  gipsy,  and  a  conversation  between 
them  at  once  began. 

This  incident  affords  an  illustration  of  the  width  as  well 
as  the  thoroughness  of  Groome's  knowledge  of  Romany 
matters.  I  have  affirmed  in  'Aylwin  '  that  Sinfi  Lovell  — 
a  born  linguist  who  could  neither  read  nor  write  —  was  the 
only  gipsy  who  knew  both  English  and  Welsh  Romany. 
Groome  was  one  of  the  few  Englishmen  who  knew  the 
most  interesting  of  all  varieties  of  the  Romany  tongue. 
But  latterly  he  talked  a  great  deal  of  the  vast  knowledge 
of  the  Welsh  gipsies,  both  as  to  language  and  folk-lore, 
possessed  by  Mr.  John  Sampson,  University  Librarian  at 
Liverpool,  the  scholar  who  did  so  much  to  aid  Groome 


THE    TARNO    RYE 


in  his  last  volume  on  Romany  subjects,  called  '  Gypsy 
Folk-Tales.'  It  therefore  gives  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
to  end  these  very  inadequate  words  of  mine  with  a 
beautiful  little  poem  in  Welsh  Romany  by  Mr.  Sampson 
upon  the  death  of  the  "  Tarno  Rye."  In  a  very  few  years 
Welsh  Romany  will  become  absolutely  extinct,  and  then 
this  little  gem,  so  full  of  the  Romany  feeling,  will  be 
greatly  prized.  I  wish  I  could  have  written  the  poem 
myself,  but  no  man  could  have  written  it  save  Mr. 
Sampson  :  — 

STANYAKERfiSKI 

Romano  raia,  prala,  jinimangro, 

Konyo  chumerava  to  chikat, 
Shukar  Java  mangi,  ta  mukava 

Tut  te  'jS  kamdom  me  —  kushki  rat ! 

Kamli,  savimaski,  sas  i  sarla, 

Baro  zl  sas  tut,  sar,  tamo  rom, 
Lhatidn  i  jivimaski  patrin, 

Ta  iTan  o  purikeno  drom. 

Boshade  i  chirikle  veshtendi ; 

Sanile  'pre  tuti  chal  ta  chai ; 
Muri,  puv  ta  pani  tu  kam^sas 

Dudyeras  o  sonako  lilai. 

Palla  'vena  brishin,  shil,  la  baval: 

Sa'o  dives  tu  murshkines  pirdan  : 
Ako  kino  'vesa,  rat  avela, 

Cheros  si  te  kesa  tiro  tan. 


24 


THE    TAR  NO    RYE 


Pari  o  tamlo  merimasko  pani 
Dava  tuki  miro  vast,  ta  so 

Tu  kamesas  tire  kokoreski 

Mai  kamava  —  "  Te  soves  misto  ! ' 


Translation 


TO  FRANCIS  HINDES  GROOME 


Scholar  Gypsy,  Brother,  Student, 

Peacefully  I  kiss  thy  forehead, 
Quietly  I  depart  and  leave 

Thee  whom  I  loved  —  "  Good  night." 

Sunny,  smiling  v^-as  the  morning ; 

A  light  heart  was  thine,  as,  a  youth. 
Thou  didst  strike  life's  trail 

And  take  the  ancient  road. 

The  birds  sang  in  the  woods, 
Man  and  maid  laughed  on  thee, 

The  hills,  field,  and  water  thou  didst  love 
The  golden  summer  illuminated. 

Then  come  the  rain,  cold,  and  wind. 

All  the  day  thou  hast  tramped  bravely. 
Now  thou  growest  weary,  night  comes  on. 

It  is  time  to  make  thy  tent. 

Across  death's  dark  stream 

I  give  thee  my  hand ;  and  what 

Thou  wouldst  have  desired  for  thyself 
I  wish  thee  —  mayst  thou  sleep  well. 

THEODORE  WATTS-DUNTON. 


EDWARD    FITZGERALD 
AN   AFTERMATH 


Gone  into  darkness,  that  full  light 

Of  friendship  I  past,  in  sleep,  atvay 
By  night,  into  the  deeper  night ! 

The  deeper  night  ?     A  clearer  day 
Tha7i  our  poor  twilight  dawn  on  earth  — 

If  night,  what  barren  toil  to  be  ! 
What  life,  so  maimed  by  night,  7vere  worth 

Our  livitig  out  ?     Not  mine  to  me 
Remembering  all  the  golden  hours 

Now  silent,  and  so  maiiy  dead. 
And  him  the  last. 

ALFRED    LORD   TENNYSON. 


EDWARD    FITZGERALD 

AN  AFTERMATH 


Y  earliest  recollections  of  FitzGerald  go 
back  to  thirty-six  years.  He  and  my  father 
were  old  friends  and  neighbours — in  East 
Suffolk,  where  neighbours  are  few,  and 
fourteen  miles  counts  for  nothing.  They  never  were  great 
correspondents,  for  what  they  had  to  say  to  one  another 
they  said  mostly  by  word  of  mouth.  So  there  were  notes, 
but  no  letters ;  and  the  notes  have  nearly  all  perished. 
In  the  summer  of  1859  ^^^  were  staying  at  Aldeburgh, 
a  favourite  place  with  my  father,  as  the  home  of  his 
forefathers.  They  were  sea-folk  ;  and  Robinson  Groome, 
my  great-grandfather,  was  owner  of  the  Unity  lugger,  on 
which  the  poet  Crabbe  went  up  to  London.  When  his 
son,  my  grandfather,  was  about  to  take  orders,  he 
expressed  a  timid  hope  that  the  bishop  would  deem  him 
a  proper  candidate.     "And  who  the  devil  in  hell,"  cried 


28 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


Robinson  Groome,  "  should  he  ordain  if  he  doesn't  ordain 
you,  my  dear  ? " '  This  I  have  heard  my  father  tell 
FitzGerald,  as  also  of  his  "Aunt  Peggy  and  Aunt  D." 
{i.e.,  Deborah),  who,  if  ever  Crabbe  was  mentioned  in 
their  hearing,  always  smoothed  their  black  mittens  and 
remarked  —  "  We  never  thought  much  of  Mr.  Crabbe." 

Our  house  was  Clare  Cottage,  where  FitzGerald  himself 
lodged  long  afterwards.  "  Two  little  rooms,  enough  for 
me ;  a  poor  civil  woman  pleased  to  have  me  in  them."  It 
fronts  the  sea,  and  is  (or  was)  a  small  two-storeyed  house, 
with  a  patch  of  grass  before  it,  a  summer-house,  and  a  big 
white  figurehead,  belike  of  the  shipwrecked  Clare.  So 
over  the  garden-gate  FitzGerald  leant  one  June  morning, 
and  asked  me,  a  boy  of  eight,  was  my  father  at  home. 
I  remember  him  dimly  then  as  a  tall  sea-browned  man, 
who  took  us  boys  out  for  several  sails,  on  the  first  of 
which  I  and  a  brother  were  both  of  us  woefully  sea-sick. 
Afterwards  I  remember  picnics  down  the  Deben  river, 
and  visits  to  him  at  Woodbridge,  first  in  his  lodgings  on 
the  Market  Hill  over  Berry  the  gunsmith's,  and  then  at 
his  own  house.  Little  Grange.    The  last  was  in  May  1883. 


1  A  copy  of  his  will  lies  before  me  ;  it  opens :  —  "  In  the  name  of 
God,  Amen.  I,  Robinson  Groome,  of  Aldeburgh,  Suffolk,  mariner, 
being  of  sound  mind  and  disposing  disposition,  and  considering  the 
perils  and  dangers  of  the  seas  and  other  uncertainties  of  this  transi- 
tory world,  do,  for  the  sake  of  avoiding  controversies  after  my 
decease,  make  this  my  Will,"  &c. 


AN  AFTERMATH 


29 


My  father  and  I  had  been  spending  a  few  days  with 
Captain  Brooke  of  UfTord,  the  possessor  of  one  of  the 
finest  private  libraries  in  England.'  From  Ufford  we 
drove  on  to  VVoodbridge,  and  passed  some  pleasant  hours 
with  FitzGerald.  We  walked  down  to  the  riverside,  and 
sat  on  a  bench  at  the  foot  of  the  lime-tree  walk.  There 
was  a  small  boy,  I  remember,  wading  among  the  ooze ; 
and  FitzGerald,  calling  him  to  him,  said  —  "Little  boy, 
did  you  never  hear  tell  of  the  fate  of  the  Master  of 
Ravenswood  ? "  And  then  he  told  him  the  story.  At 
dinner  there  was  much  talk,  as  always,  of  many  things, 
old  and  new,  but  chiefly  old ;  and  at  nine  we  started  on 
our  homeward  drive.  Within  a  month  I  heard  that 
FitzGerald  was  dead. 

From  my  own  recollections,  then,  of  FitzGerald  himself, 
but  still  more  of  my  father's  frequent  talk  of  him,  from 
some  notes  and  fragments  that  have  escaped  hebdoma- 
dal burnings,  from  a  visit  that  I  paid  to  Woodbridge 
in  the  summer  of  1889,  and  from  reminiscences  and 
unpublished  letters  furnished  by  friends  of  FitzGerald,  I 
purpose   to   weave   a  patchwork  article,   which   shall    in 


'  Years  before,  FitzGerald  and  my  father  called  together  at  Ufford. 
The  drawing-room  there  had  been  newly  refurnished,  and  FitzGerald 
sat  himself  down  on  an  amber  satin  couch.  Presently  a  black  stream 
was  seen  trickling  over  it.  It  came  from  a  penny  bottle  of  ink,  which 
HtzGerald  had  bought  in  Woodbridge  and  put  in  a  tail -pocket. 


3° 


ED  WA RD   FITZ  GERA LD 


some  ways  supplement  Mr.  Aldis  Wright's  edition  of  his 
Letters.'  Those  letters  surely  will  take  a  high  place  in 
literature,  on  their  own  merits,  quite  apart  from  the 
interest  that  attaches  to  the  translator  of  Omar  Khayyam, 
to  the  friend  of  Thackeray,  Tennyson,  and  Carlyle. 
Here  and  there  I  may  cite  them ;  but  whoso  will  know 
FitzGerald  must  go  to  the  fountain-head.  And  yet  that 
the  letters  by  themselves  may  convey  a  false  impression 
of  the  man  is  evident  from  several  articles  on  them  —  the 
best  and  worst  Mr.  Gosse's  in  the  '  Fortnightly '  (July 
1 889). 2  Mr.  Gosse  sums  him  up  in  the  statement  that 
"his  time,  when  the  roses  were  not  being  pruned,  and 
when  he  was  not  making  discreet  journeys  in  uneventful 
directions,   was    divided    between    music,    which    greatly 


I  Letters  and  Literary  Remains  of  Edward  FitzGerald.  (3  vols. 
Macmillan,  18S9;  2d  ed.  of  Letters,  2  vols.  1894.)  Reference  may 
also  be  made  to  Mr.  Wright's  article  in  the  '  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography  ' ;  to  another,  of  special  charm  and  interest,  by  Professor 
Cowell,  in  the  new  edition  of  Chambers's  Encyclopaedia;  to  Sir 
Frederick  Pollock's  Personal  Reminiscences ;  to  the  Life  of  Lord 
Houghton  ;  to  an  article  by  Edward  Clodd  in  the  '  English  Illustrated 
Magazine'  (1894);  to  the  'Edinburgh  Review'  (1895);  and  to  Fitz- 
Gerald's  Letters  to  Fanny  Kemble  in  '  Temple  Bar'  (1895).  [These 
last  have  been  edited  by  W.  Aldis  Wright  —  'Letters  of  Edward 
FitzGerald  to  Fanny  Kemble,  1S71-1883.'  London,  1895.  A  final 
volume  entitled  '  More  Letters  of  Edward  FitzGerald '  appeared  in 
1901.] 

[2  This  article  has  since  then  been  revised  and  reissued  in  '  Critical 
Kit-Kats'  by  Edmund  Gosse.     London,  1S96.] 


AN  AFTERMATH 


31 


occupied  his  younger  thought,  and  literature,  which  slowly, 
but  more  and  more  exclusively,  engaged  his  attention." 
There  is  truth  in  the  statement;  still  this  pruner  of  roses, 
who  of  rose-pruning  knew  absolutely  nothing,  was  one 
who  best  loved  the  sea  when  the  sea  was  rough,  who 
always  put  into  port  of  a  Sunday  that  his  men  might  "get 
their  hot  dinner."  He  was  one  who  would  give  his  friend 
of  the  best  —  oysters,  maybe,  and  audit  ale,  which  "  dear 
old  Thompson  "  used  to  send  him  from  Trinity  —  and 
himself  the  while  would  pace  up  and  down  the  room, 
munching  apple  or  turnip,  and  drinking  long  draughts  of 
milk.  He  was  a  man  of  marvellous  simplicity  of  life  and 
matchless  charity :  hereon  I  will  quote  a  letter  of  Professor 
Cowell's,  who  did,  if  any  one,  know  FitzGerald  well :  — 

"  He  was  no  Sybarite.  There  was  a  vein  of  strong  scorn  of  all 
self-indulgence  in  him,  which  was  very  different.  He  was,  of  course, 
very  much  of  a  recluse,  with  a  vein  of  misanthropy  towards  men  in 
the  abstract,  joined  to  a  tender-hearted  sympathy  for  the  actual  men 
and  women  around  him.  He  was  the  very  reverse  of  Carlyle's 
description  of  the  sentimental  philanthropist,  who  loves  man  in  the 
abstract,  but  is  intolerant  of  'Jack  and  Tom,  who  liave  wills  of 
their  own.'  " 

FitzGerald's  charities  are  probably  forgotten,  unless  by 
the  recipients ;  and  how  many  of  them  must  be  dead, 
old    soldiers  as    they  mostly  were,   and    suchlike  !      Hut 


32 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


this  I  have  heard,  that  one  man  borrowed  ^200  of  him.' 
Three  times  he  regularly  paid  the  interest,  and  the  third 
time  FitzGerald  put  his  note  of  hand  in  the  fire,  just 
saying  he  thought  that  would  do.  His  simplicity  dated 
from  very  early  times.  For  when  he  was  at  Trinity,  his 
mother  called  on  him  in  her  coach-and-four,  and  sent  a 
gyp  to  ask  him  to  step  down  to  the  college-gate,  but  he 
could  not  come  —  his  only  pair  of  shoes  was  at  the 
cobbler's.  And  down  to  the  last  he  was  always  perfectly 
careless  as  to  dress.  I  can  see  him  now,  walking  down 
into  Woodbridge,  with  an  old  Inverness  cape,  double- 
breasted,  flowered  satin  waistcoat,  slippers  on  feet,  and  a 
handkerchief,  very  likely,  tied  over  his  hat.  Yet  one 
always  recognised  in  him  the  Hidalgo.  Never  was  there 
a  more  perfect  gentleman.  His  courtesy  came  out 
even  in  his  rebukes.  A  lady  one  day  was  sitting  in  a 
Woodbridge  shop,  gossiping  to  a  friend  about  the  eccen- 
tricities of  the  Squire  of  Boulge,  when  a  gentleman,  who 
was  sitting  with  his  back  to  them,  turned  round, 
and,  gravely  bowing,  gravely  said,  "  Madam,  he  is  my 
brother."  They  were  eccentric,  certainly,  the  FitzGeralds. 
FitzGerald  himself  remarked  of  the  family:  "  We  are  all 
mad,  but  with  this  difference  —  /  know  that  I  am." 
And  of  that  same  brother  he  once  wrote  to  my  father :  — 


[»  The  sum  lent  to  this  friend  was  ^500.     j.  L.] 


AN  AFTERMATH 


33 


Lowestoft:  Dec.  2/66. 
My  dear  Groome,  —  "At  least  for  what  I  know"  (as 
old  Isaac  Clarke  used  to  say),  1  shall  be  at  home  next 
week  as  well  as  this.  How  could  you  expect  my  Brother 
3  times  ?  You,  as  well  as  others,  should  really  (for  his 
Benefit,  as  well  as  your  own)  either  leave  it  all  to  Chance, 
or  appoint  one  Day,  and  then  decline  any  further  Nego- 
tiation. This  would  really  spare  poor  John  an  immense 
deal  of  (in  sober  Truth)  "Taking  the  Lord's  Name  in 
vain."  I  mean  his  eternal  D.  V.,  which,  translated,  only 
means,  "If  /  happen  to  be  in  the  Humour."  You  must 
know  that  the  feeling  of  being  bound  to  an  Engagement 
is  the  very  thing  that  makes  him  wish  to  break  it. 
Spedding  once  told  me  this  was  rather  my  case.  I 
believe  it,  and  am  therefore  shy  of  ever  making  an 
engagement.      O  si  sic  omnia  ! —  Yours  truly, 

E.  F.  G. 

Of  another  brother,  Peter,  the  Catholic  brother,  as  John 
was  the  Protestant  one,  he  wrote  :  — 

Lowestoft,  Tuesday,  Feb.  16,  1875. 
You  may  have  heard  that  my  Brother  Peter  is  dead,  of 
Bronchitis,  at  Bournemouth.  He  was  taken  seriously  ill 
on  Thursday  last,  and  died  on  Saturday  without  pain  ;  and 
I  am  told  that  his  last  murmured  words  were  my  name  — 
thrice  repeated.    A  more  amiable  Gentleman  did  not  live, 


34 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


with  something  helpless  about  him  —  what  the  Irish  call 
an  "Innocent  man  "  —  which  mixed  up  Compassion  with 
Regard,  and  made  it  perhaps  stronger.  .  .  . 

Many  odd  tales  were  current  in  Woodbridge  about 
FitzGerald  himself.  How  once,  for  example,  he  sailed 
over  to  Holland,  meaning  to  look  upon  Paul  Potter's 
"  Bull,"  but  how,  on  arriving  there,  he  found  a  favourable 
homeward  breeze,  and  so  sailed  home.  How,  too,  he  took 
a  ticket  for  Edinburgh,  but  at  Newcastle  found  a  train  on 
the  point  of  starting  for  London,  and,  thinking  it  a  pity 
to  lose  the  chance,  returned  thereby.  Both  stories  must 
be  myths,  for  we  learn  from  his  letters  that  in  1861  he 
really  did  spend  two  days  in  Holland,  and  in  1874  other 
two  in  Scotland.  Still,  I  fancy  both  stories  emanated 
from  FitzGerald,  for  all  Woodbridge  united  could  not 
have  hit  upon  Paul  Potter's  "  Bull." 

Except  in  February  1867,  when  he  was  strongly  opposed 
to  Lord  Rendlesham's  election,  he  took  no  active  part  in 
politics. 

"  K^^  Don't  write  politics  —  I  agree  with  you  before- 
hand," is  a  postscript  (1852)  to  Frederic  Tennyson  ;  and 
in  a  letter  from  Mr.  William  Bodham  Donne  to  my  father 
occurs  this  passage  :  "  E.  F.  G.  informs  me  that  he  gave 
his  landlord  instructions  in  case  any  one  called  about  his 
vote  to  say  that  Mr.  F.  would  not  vote,  advised  every  one 


Mary    Frances    Fitz  Gerald 


AN  AFTERMATH 


35 


to  do  the  same,  and  let  the  rotten  matter  bust  itself."  So 
it  certainly  stands  in  the  letter,  which  bears  date  29th 
October  1868  ;  but,  according  to  Mr.  Mowbray  Donne, 
"  the  phrase  was  rather  :  '  Let  the  rotten  old  ship  go  to 
pieces  of  itself.'  At  least,"  he  adds,  "so  I  have  always 
heard  it ;  and  this  suggests  that  once  there  was  a  galleon 
worth  preserving,  but  that  he  would  not  patch  up  the  old 
craft.  He  may  have  said  both,  of  course."  Anyhow, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  FitzGerald  was  sorrowfully  convinced 
that  England's  best  day  was  over,  and  that  he,  that  any 
one,  was  powerless  to  arrest  the  inevitable  doom.  "  I 
am  quite  assured  that  this  Country  is  dying,  as  other 
Countries  die,  as  Trees  die,  atop  first.  The  lower  limbs 
are  making  all  haste  to  follow."  He  wrote  thus  in  186 1, 
when  the  local  squirearchy  refused  to  interest  itself  in  the 
"  manuring  and  skrimmaging "  of  the  newly  established 
rifle  corps.  And  here  are  some  more  vaticinations  of 
evil :  — 

"  I  have  long  felt  about  England  as  you  do,  and  even  made  up  my 
mind  to  it,  so  as  to  sit  comparatively,  if  ignobly,  easy  on  that  score. 
Sometimes  I  envy  those  who  are  so  old  that  the  Curtain  will  prob- 
ably fall  on  them  before  it  does  on  their  Country.  If  one  could  save 
the  Race,  what  a  Cause  it  would  be  !  not  for  one's  own  glory  as  a 
member  of  it,  nor  even  for  its  glory  as  a  Nation :  but  because  it  is 
the  only  spot  in  Europe  where  Freedom  keeps  her  place.  Had  I 
Alfred's  voice,  I  would  not  have  mumbled  for  years  over  In  Memo- 


36 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


riam  and  The  Princess,  but  sung  such  strains  as  would  have  revived 
the  'M.apad(j}voii.6,xovs  S.v8pas  to  guard  the  territory  they  had  won." 

The  curtain  has  fallen  twelve  years  now  on  FitzGerald, — 
it  is  fifty-four  years  since  he  wrote  those  words  :  God  send 
their  dark  forebodings  may  prove  false  !  But  they  clouded 
his  life,  and  were  partly  the  cause  why,  Ajax-like,  he 
loitered  in  his  tent. 

His  thoughts  on  religion  he  kept  to  himself.  A  letter 
of  June  1885  from  the  late  Master  of  Trinity  to  my  father 
opens  thus :  — 

"My  dear  Archdeacon,  —  I  ought  to  have  thanked  you  ere 
this  for  your  letter,  and  the  enclosed  hymn,  which  we  much  admire, 
and  cannot  but  be  touched  by."  The  more  perhaps  as  our  dear 
dead  friend  seems  to  have  felt  its  pathos.  I  have  more  to  repent  of 
than  he  had.  Two  of  the  purest-living  men  among  my  intimates, 
FitzGerald  and  Spedding,  were  prisoners  in  Doubting  Castle  all 
their  lives,  or  at  least  the  last  half  of  them.  This  is  to  me  a  great 
problem,  —  not  to  be  solved  by  the  ordinary  expedients,  nor  on  this 
side  the  Veil,  I  think." 

A  former  rector  of  Woodbridge,  now  many  years  dead, 
once  called  on  FitzGerald  to  express  his  regret  that  he 
never  saw  him  at  church.  "  Sir,"  said  FitzGerald,  "  you 
might  have  conceived  that  a  man  has  not  come  to  my 


I  This  was  the  hymn  —  its  words,  like  the  music,  by  my  father  — 
that  is  printed  at  the  end  of  this  volume. 


AN  AFTERMATH 


37 


years  of  life  without  thinking  much  of  these  things.  I 
believe  I  may  say  that  I  have  reflected  on  them  fully 
as  much  as  yourself.  You  need  not  repeat  this  visit." 
Certain  it  is  that  FitzGerald's  was  a  most  reverent 
mind,  and  I  know  that  the  text  on  his  grave  was  of  his 
own  choosing  —  "It  is  He  that  hath  made  us,  and 
not  we  ourselves."  I  know,  too,  that  sometimes  he  would 
sit  and  listen  in  a  church  porch  while  service  was  going 
on,  and  slip  away  unperceived  before  the  people  came 
out.  Still,  it  seems  to  me  beyond  question  that  his 
version  of  the  'Rubaiyat'  is  an  utterance  of  his  soul's 
deepest  doubts,  and  that  hereafter  it  will  come  to  be 
recognised  as  the  highest  expression  of  Agnosticism  :  — 

With  them  the  seed  of  Wisdom  did  I  sow, 

And  with  mine  own  hand  wrought  to  make  it  grow  ; 

And  this  was  all  the  Harvest  that  I  reap'd  — 
"  I  came  like  Water,  and  like  Wind  I  go." 

Into  this  Universe,  and   Why  not  knowing 
Nor  Whefice,  like  Water  willy-nilly  flowing  ; 
And  out  of  it,  as  Wind  along  the  Waste, 
I  know  not   Whither,  willy-nilly  blowing. 
m  *  m  *  *  *  * 

We  are  no  other  than  a  moving  row 

Of  Magic  Shadow-shapes  that  come  and  go 


38 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


Round  with  the  Sun-illumin'd  Lantern  held 
In  Midnight  by  the  Master  of  the  Show  ; 

But  helpless  Pieces  of  the  Game  He  plays 
Upon  this  Chequer-board  of  Nights  and  Days ; 

Hither  and  thither  moves,  and  checks,  and  slays, 
And  one  by  one  back  in  the  Closet  lays. 

Yet  to  how  many  critics  this  has  seemed  but  a  poem  of 
the  wine-cup  and  roses! 

FitzGerald  proved  a  most  kindly  contributor  to  the 
series  of  "  Suffolk  Notes  and  Queries  "  that  I  edited  for 
the  'Ipswich  Journal'  in  1877-78.  The  following  were 
some  of  his  notes,  all  signed  "  Efifigy"  —  a  play  on  his 
initials:  — 

"  Major  Moor,  David  Hume,  and  the  Royal  George.  — 
In  a  review  of  Burton's  Life  of  Hume,  p.  354  of  the 
'Gentleman's  Magazine,'  April  1849,  is  the  following 
quotation  from  the  book,  and  the  following  note 
upon    it : 

"'Page    452.     "Major    M ,  with    whom    I    dined 

yesterday,  said  that  he  had  frequently  met  David  Hume 
at  their  military  mess  in  Scotland,  and  in  other  parties. 
That  he  was  very  polite  and  pleasant,  though  thoughtful 
in  company,  generally  reclining  his  head  upon  his  hand, 


AN  AFTERMATH 


39 


as  if  in  study ;  from  which  he  would  suddenly  recover," 
&c.     [Note  by  the  Editor,  John  Mitford  of  Benhall.]     We 

merely  add  that  Major  M was  Major  Moor,  author 

of  the  Hindoo  Pantheon,  a  very  learned  and  amiable 
person.' 

"A  very  odd  blunder  for  one  distinguished  Suffolk  man 
to  make  of  another,  and  so  near  a  neighbour.  For  David 
Hume  died  in  1776,  when  Major  Moor  was  about  seven 
years  old ;  by  this  token  that  (as  he  has  told  me)  he  saw 
the  masts  of  the  Royal  George  slope  under  water  as  she 
went  down  in  1782,  while  he  was  on  board  the  transport 
that  was  to  carry  him  to  India,  a  cadet  of  thirteen  years 
old. 

"  Nearly  sixty  years  after  this,  Major  Moor  (as  I  also 
heard  him  relate)  was  among  the  usual  company  going 
over  one  of  the  Royal  Palaces  —  Windsor,  1  think  — 
when  the  cicerone  pointed  out  a  fragment  of  the  Royal 
George's  mast,  whereupon  one  elderly  gentleman  of  the 
party  told  them  that  he  had  witnessed  the  disaster ;  after 
which  Major  Moor  capped  the  general  amazement  by 
informing  the  little  party  that  they  had  two  surviving 
witnesses  of  it  among  them  that  day. 

'■'■Suffolk  Minstrelsy.  —  These  fragments  of  a  Suffolk 
Harvest-Home  Song,  remembered  by  an  old  Suffolk 
Divine,  offer  room  for  historical  and  lyrical  conjecture. 
I  think  the  song  must  consist  of  tew  several  fragments. 


40 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


" '  Row  tu  me,  row  tu  me,'  says  He-ne-ry  Burgin, 

'  Row  tu  me,  row  tu  me,  I  prah  ; 
For  I  ha'  tarn'd  a  Scotch  robber  across  the  salt  seas, 

Tu  ma-i-nt  'n  my  tew  brothers  and  me.' " 

"  The  Count  de  Grasse  he  stood  amaz'd. 

And  frigh-te-ned  he  were, 
For  to  see  these  bold  Bri-tons 

So  active  in  war." 

^^Limb.  —  I  find  this  word,  whose  derivation  has  troubled 
Suffolk  vocabularies,  quoted  in  its  Suffolk  sense  from  Tate 
Wilkinson,  in  'Temple  Bar  Magazine'  for  January  1876. 
Mrs.  White  —  an  actress  somewhere  in  the  Shires,  —  she 
may  have  derived  from  Suffolk,  however  —  addresses  her 
daughter,  Mrs.  Burden,  in  these  words:  'I'll  tell  you 
what,  Maam,  if  you  contradict  me,  I'll  fell  you  at  my  feet, 
and  trample  over  your  corse,  Maam,  for  you're  a  limb, 
Maam,  your  father  on  his  deathbed  told  me  you  were  a 
limb.''  (^N.B.  —  Perhaps  Mr.  White  it  was  who  derived 
from  «T.)  And  again  when  poor  Mrs.  Burden  asks  what 
is  meant  by  2i parenthesis,  her  mother  exclaims,  'Oh,  what 
an  infernal  limb  of  an  actress  you'll  make,  not  to  know 
the  meaning  of  prentice,  plural  of  apprentices  ! '  Such  is 
Tate's  story  if  correctly  quoted  by  'Temple  Bar.'  Not 
long  ago  I  heard  at  Aldbro',  '  My  mother  is  a  limb  for  salt 
pork.'  " 

The  Suffolk  dialect  was  ever  a  pet  hobby  of  FitzGer- 
ald's.     For  years   he   was   meditating  a   new  edition   of 


AN  AFTERMATH 


41 


Major  Moor's  '  Suffolk  Words,'  but  the  question  never 
was  settled  whether  words  of  his  own  collecting  were  to 
be  incorporated  in  the  body  of  the  work  or  relegated  to  an 
appendix.  So  the  notion  remained  a  notion.  Much  to 
our  loss,  for  myself  I  prefer  his  '  Sea-Words  and  Phrases 
along  the  Suffolk  Coast '  (in  the  scarce  '  East  Anglian,' 
i868-6g')  to  half  his  translations.  For  this  "poor  old 
Lowestoft  sea-slang,"  as  FitzGerald  slightingly  calls  it, 
illustrates  both  his  strong  love  of  the  sea  and  his  own 
quaint  lovable  self.  One  turns  over  its  pages  idly,  and 
lights  on  dozens  of  entries  such  as  these  :  — 

"  Bark.  —  '  The  surf  bark  from  the  Nor'ard  ; '  or,  as 
was  otherwise  said  to  me,  '  The  sea  aint  lost  his  woice 
from  the  Nor'ard  yet,'  —  a  sign,  by  the  way,  that  the  wind 
is  to  come  from  that  quarter.  A  poetical  word  such  as 
those  whose  business  is  with  the  sea  are  apt  to  use. 
Listening  one  night  to  the  sea  some  way  inland,  a  sailor 
said  to  me,  '  Yes,  sir,  the  sea  roar  for  the  loss  of  the 
wind  ; '  which  a  landsman  properly  interpreted  as  meaning 


'  Reprinted  in  Vol.  11,  of  the  American  edition  of  FitzGerald's 
Works.  ['Works  of  Edward  FitzGerald,  Translator  of  Omar 
Khayyam,  Reprinted  from  the  original  impressions,  with  some 
corrections  derived  from  his  own  annotated  copies.  In  two  volumes  : 
New  York  and  Boston,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.  London  :  Bernard 
Quaritch.'     8vo.     1887.] 


42 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


only  that  the  sea  made  itself  heard  when  the  wind  had 
subsided." 

"  Brustle.  —  A  compound  of  Bustle  and  Rustle,  I 
suppose.  '  Why,  the  old  girl  brustle  along  like  a  Hedge- 
sparrow  ! '  —  said  of  a  round-bowed  vessel  spuffling 
through  the  water.  I  am  told  that,  comparing  little  with 
great,  the  figure  is  not  out  of  the  way.  Otherwise,  what 
should  these  ignorant  seamen  know  of  Hedge-sparrows  ? 
Some  of  them  do,  however;  fond  of  birds,  as  of  other 
pets  —  Children,  cats,  small  dogs  —  anything  in  short 
considerably  under  the  size  of — a  Bullock  —  and  accus- 
tomed to  birds-nesting  over  your  cliff  and  about  your  lanes 
from  childhood.  A  little  while  ago  a  party  of  Beechmen 
must  needs  have  a  day's  frolic  at  the  old  sport ;  marched 
bodily  into  a  neighbouring  farmer's  domain,  ransacked 
the  hedges,  climbed  the  trees,  coming  down  pretty  figures, 
I  was  told,  (in  plainer  language)  with  guernsey  and 
breeches  torn  fore  and  aft ;  the  farmer  after  them  in  a 
tearing  rage,  calling  for  his  gun  —  '  They  were  Pirates  — 
They  were  the  Press-gang ! '  and  the  boys  in  Blue  going 
on  with  their  game  laughing.  When  they  had  got  their 
fill  of  it,  they  adjourned  to  Oulton  Boar  for  '  Half  a 
pint ' ;  by-and-by  in  came  the  raging  farmer  for  a  like 
purpose ;  at  first  growling  aloof ;  then  warming  towards 
the  good  fellows,  till  —  he  joined  their  company,  and  — 
insisted  on  paying  their  shot." 


AN  AFTERMATH 


43 


"Cards.  —  Though  often  carried  on  board  to  pass 
away  the  time  at  All-fours,  Don,  or  Sir-wiser  {q.v.),  never- 
theless regarded  with  some  suspicion  when  business  does 
not  go  right.  A  friend  of  mine  vowed  that,  if  his  ill-luck 
continued,  over  the  cards  should  go ;  and  over  they  went. 
Opinions  differ  as  to  swearing.  One  Captain  strictly 
forbade  it  on  board  his  lugger ;  but  he,  also  continuing  to 
get  no  fish,  called  out,  '  Swear  away,  lads,  and  see  what 
that'll  do.'  Perhaps  he  only  meant  as  Menage's  French 
Bishop  did;  who  going  one  day  to  Court,  his  carriage 
stuck  fast  in  a  slough.  The  Coachman  swore;  the 
Bishop,  putting  his  head  out  of  the  window,  bid  him 
not  to  do  that ;  the  Coachman  declared  that  unless  he  did, 
his  horses  would  never  get  the  carriage  out  of  the  mud. 
'Well  then,  says  the  Bishop,  just  for  this  once  then.'" 

"  Egg-bound.  —  Probably  an  inland  word  ;  but  it  was 
only  from  one  of  the  beach  I  heard  it.  He  had  a  pair 
of  —  what  does  the  reader  think  ?  —  Turtle-doves  in 
his  net-loft,  looking  down  so  drolly  —  the  delicate  crea- 
tures —  from  their  wicker  cage  on  the  rough  work  below, 
that  I  wondered  what  business  they  had  there.  But  this 
truculent  Salwager  assured  me  seriously  that  he  had 
'  doated  on  them,'  and  promised  me  the  first  pair  they 
should  hatch.  For  a  long  while  they  had  no  family,  so 
long  '  neutral '  indeed  as  to  cause  grave  doubts  whether 
they  were  a  pair  at  all.     But  at  last  one  of  them  began  to 


44 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


show  signs  of  cradle-making,  picking  at  some  hay  stuffed 
into  the  wicker-bars  to  encourage  them ;  and  I  was  told 
that  she  was  manifestly  ^egg-bound.'  " 

"  New  Moon.  —  When  first  seen,  be  sure  to  turn  your 
money  over  in  your  pocket  by  way  of  making  it  grow 
there ;  provided  always  that  you  see  her  face  to  face,  not 
through  a  glass  (window)  —  for,  in  that  case,  the  charm 
works  the  wrong  way.  '  I  see  the  little  dear  this  evening, 
and  give  my  money  a  twister  ;  there  wasn't  much,  but  I 
roused  her  about.'  Where  ^her^  means  the  Money,  not 
the  Moon.  Every  one  knows  of  what  gender  all  that 
is  amiable  becomes  in  the  Sailor's  eyes :  his  Ship,  of 
course  —  the  '  Old  Dear  '  —  the  '  Old  Girl '  —  the  '  Old 
Beauty,'  «&c.  I  don't  think  the  Sea  is  so  familiarly 
addrest ;  she  is  almost  too  strong-minded,  capricious, 
and  terrible  a  Virago,  and  —  he  is  wedded  to  her  for 
better  or  worse.  Yet  I  have  heard  the  Weather  (to 
whose  instigation  so  much  of  that  Sea's  ill-humours  are 
due)  spoken  of  by  one  coming  up  the  hatchway,  '  Let's 
see  how  she  look  now.'  The  Moon  is,  of  course,  a 
Woman  too ;  and  as  with  the  German,  and,  I  believe,  the 
ancient  Oriental  people,  '  the  blessed  Sun  himself  a  fair 
hot  Wench  in  a  flame-colour 'd  taffeta,'  and  so  she  rises, 
she  sets,  and  she  crosses  the  Line.  So  the  Time-piece 
that  measures  the  hours  of  day  and  night.  A  Friend's 
Watch  going  wrong  of  late,  I  advised  Regulating ;  but 


AN  AFTERMATH 


45 


was  gravely  answer'd  that  '  She  was  a  foreigner,  and  he 
did  not  like  meddling  with  her:  The  same  poor  ignorant 
was  looking  with  me  one  evening  at  your  fine  old  church 
[Lowestoft]  which  sadly  wanted  regulating  too:  lying  all 
along  indeed  like  a  huge  stranded  Ship,  with  one  whole 
side  battered  open  to  the  ribs,  through  which  '  the  Sea- 
wind  sang  shrill,  chill';  and  he  'did  not  like  seeing  her 
so  distress'd  ' ;  remembering  boyish  days,  and  her  good 
old  Vicar  (of  course  I  mean  the  former  one :  pious, 
charitable,  venerable  Francis  Cunningham),  and  looking 
to  lie  under  her  walls,  among  his  own  people  —  'if  not,' 
as  he  said,  'somewhere  else:  Some  months  after,  seeing 
the  Church  with  her  southern  side  restored  to  the  sun,  the 
same  speaker  cried,  '  Well  done.  Old  Girl !  Up,  and 
crow  again  ! '  " 

FitzGerald's  hesitancy  about  Major  Moor's  book  was 
typical  of  the  man.  I  am  assured  by  Mr.  John  Loder  of 
Woodbridge,  who  knew  him  well,  that  it  was  inordinately 
difficult  to  get  him  to  do  anything.  First  he  would  be 
delighted  with  the  idea,  and  next  he  would  raise 
up  a  hundred  objections;  then,  maybe,  he  would  again, 
and  finally  he  wouldn't.  The  wonder  then  is,  not  that  he 
published  so  little,  but  that  he  published  so  much;  and 
to  whom  the  credit  thereof  was  largely  due  is  indicated  in 
this  passage  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  W.  B.  Donne's,  of  date 
25th  March  1876. 


46 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


"  I  am  so  delighted  at  the  glory  E.  F.  G.  has  gained  by  his  trans- 
lation of  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam.  The  '  Contemporary 
Review '  and  the  '  Spectator '  newspaper  I  It  is  full  time  that  Fitz 
should  be  disintened,  and  exhibited  to  the  world  as  one  of  the  most 
gifted  of  Britons.  And  Bernard  Quaritch  deserves  a  piece  of  plate 
or  a  statue  for  the  way  he  has  thrust  the  Rubaiyat  to  the  front." 

There  is  no  understanding  FitzGerald  till  one  fully 
realises  that  vulgar  ambition  had  absolutely  no  place  in 
his  nature.  Your  ass  in  the  lion's  skin  nowadays  is  the 
ass  who  fain  would  be  lionised ;  and  the  modern  version 
of  the  parable  of  the  talents  is  too  often  the  man  who, 
untalented,  tries  to  palm  off  Brummagem  counterfeits. 
FitzGerald's  fear  was  not  that  he  would  write  worse  than 
half  his  compeers,  but  that  he  might  write  as  ill.  "This 
visionary  inactivity,"  he  tells  John  Allen,  "is  better  than 
the  mischievous  activity  of  so  many  I  see  about  me." 
He  applied  Malthus's  teaching  to  literature;  he  was  con- 
tent so  long  as  he  pleased  the  Tennysons,  some  half- 
dozen  other  friends,  and  himself,  than  whom  no  critic 
ever  was  more  fastidious.  And  when  one  thinks  of  all 
the  "  great  poems "  that  were  published  during  his 
lifetime,  and  read  and  praised  (more  praised  than 
read  perhaps),  and  then  forgotten,  one  wonders  if,  after 
all,  he  was  so  wholly  wrong  in  that  he  read  for  profit  and 
scribbled  for  amusement,  —  that  he  communed  with  his 
own   heart  and  was   still.     Besides,  had  he  not  "  awful 


AN  AFTERMATH 


47 


examples "  ?  There  was  the  Sufifolk  parson,  his  con- 
temporary, who  announced  at  nineteen  that  he  had  read 
all  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  and  did  not  see  why  he 
should  not  at  any  rate  equal  them.  So  he  fell  to  work  — 
his  poems  were  a  joy  to  FitzGerald.  Then  there  was 
Bernard  Barton.  FitzGerald  glances  at  his  passion  for 
publishing,  his  belief  that  "  there  could  not  be  too  much 
poetry  abroad."  And  lastly  there  was  Carlyle,  half 
scornful  of  FitzGerald's  "ultra  modesty  and  innocent 
far-niente  life,"  his  own  superhuman  activity  regarded 
meanwhile  by  FitzGerald  with  a  gentle  half-pitying  won- 
der, of  which  one  catches  a  premonitory  echo  in  this 
extract  from  a  long  letter  ■  of  Sir  Frederick  Pollock's  to 
W.  H.  Thompson.  It  bears  date  14th  February  1840, 
two  years  before  Carlyle  and  FitzGerald  met :  — 

"  Carlyle's  '  Chartism  '  has  been  much  read.  It  has  fine  things  in 
it,  but  nothing  new.  He  is  eminently  a  man  of  one  idea,  but  then 
neither  he  nor  any  one  else  knows  exactly  what  that  one  is.  So 
that  by  dint  of  shifting  it  about  to  and  fro,  and,  as  you  observe, 
clothing  his  remarks  in  the  safe  obscurity  of  a  foreign  language,  he 


'  That  letter  is  one  item  in  the  printed  and  manuscript,  prose  and 
verse,  contents  of  four  big  Commonplace  Books,  formed  by  the  late 
Master  of  Trinity,  and  given  at  his  death  by  Mrs.  Thompson  to  my 
father.  They  included  a  good  many  unpublished  poems  by  Lord 
Tennyson,  Frederic  Tennyson,  Archbishop  Trench,  Thackeray,  Sir 
F.  Doyle,  &c.  My  father  gave  up  the  Tcn7tysoniana  to  Lord 
Tennyson. 


48 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


manages  to  produce  a  great  impression.  Truly  he  is  a  trumpet  that 
gives  an  uncertain  sound,  an  instrument  of  no  base  metal,  but  played 
without  book,  whose  compass  is  not  ascertained,  and  continually 
failing  from  straining  at  too  high  a  note.  Spedding  has  not  yet 
found  him  out;  FitzGerald  has,  and  we  lamentably  rejoice  at  our 
melancholy  discovery.  Never  was  there  such  a  waste  of  Faith  as  in 
that  man.  He  is  ever  preaching  Faith.  Very  well,  but  in  what? 
Why,  again  says  he,  '  Faith '  —  that  is,  Faith  in  Faith.  Objectless, 
purposeless,  unmeaning,  disappearing,  and  eluding  all  grasp  when 
any  occasion  for  action  arises,  when  anything  is  to  be  done,  as 
sufficiently  appears  from  the  miserable  unpracticability  of  the  latter 
chapters  of  the  '  Chartism,'  where  he  comes  forward  to  give  direc- 
tions for  what  is  to  be  done." 

FitzGerald 's  wide,  albeit  eclectic  reading,  is  suffi- 
ciently illustrated  on  every  page  of  his  published  Letters. 
When,  fourteen  years  before  his  death,  his  eyesight 
began  to  fail  him,  he  employed  boy-readers,  one  of  whom 
read  him  the  whole  of  the  Tichborne  trial.  One  summer 
night  in  1889  I  sat  and  smoked  with  this  boy,  a  pleasant 
young  man,  in  the  bar-parlour  of  the  Bull  Hotel.  He 
told  me  how  Mr.  FitzGerald  always  gave  him  plenty  of 
plum-cake,  and  how  they  used  to  play  piquet  together. 
Only  sometimes  a  tame  mouse  would  come  out  and  sit 
on  the  table,  and  then  not  a  card  must  be  dropped.  A 
pretty  picture  !  In  the  bar-parlour  sat  an  oldish  man, 
who  presently  joined  in  our  conversation.  He  had  made 
the  lead  coffin  for  "  the  old  Major  "  (FitzGerald's  father). 


AN  AFTERMATH 


49 


and  another  for  Mr.  John ;  and  he  seemed  half  to  resent 
that  he  had  not  performed  the  same  office  for  Mr.  Edward 
himself,  for  whom,  however,  he  once  built '  a  boat.  He 
told  me,  moreover,  how  years  before  Mr.  FitzGerald  had 
congratulated  him  on  some  symptoms  of  heart  disease, 
had  said  he  had  it  himself,  and  was  glad  of  it,  for  "  when 
he  came  to  die,  he  didn't  want  to  have  a  lot  of  women 
messing  about  him." 

Next  day  I  went  and  called  on  FitzGerald's  old 
housekeeper,  Mrs.  Howe,  and  her  husband.  She^  the 
"  Fairy  Godmother,"  as  FitzGerald  delighted  to  call  her, 
was  blithe  and  chirpy  as  ever,  with  pleasant  talk  of  "our 
gentleman  "  :  "  So  kind  he  was,  not  never  one  to  make 
no  obstacles.  Such  a  joky  gentleman  he  was,  too. 
Why,  once  he  says  to  me,  '  Mrs.  Howe,  1  didn't  know  we 
had  express  trains  here.'     And  I  said,  '  Whatever  do  you 

mean,   sir  ? '  and  he  says,   '  Why,  look  at  Mrs. 's 

dress  there.'  And,  sure  enough,  she  had  a  long  train  to 
it,  you  know."  Her  husband  ("  the  King  of  Clubs  ")3 
was  eighty-four,  but  the  same  cheery,  simple  soul  he 
always  was.  Mr.  Spalding,  one  broiling  day,  saw  him 
standing  bare-headed,  and  peering  intently  for  good  five 


[I  Bought,  not 'built' a  boat.     j.  i..] 

[2  'Ske^  reached  her  ninetieth  year  March  i,  1898.     j.  i,.] 
[3  This  passage  was  written  in  1889.     "The  King  of  Clubs"  died 
in  1893.     J-  '••] 


so 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


minutes  into  the  pond  at  Little  Grange.  "What  is  it, 
Howe  ? "  he  asked  him ;  and  the  old  man  presently 
answered,  "  How  fond  them  ducks  dew  seem  of  water, 
to  be  sure."  Which,  for  some  cause  or  other,  greatly 
tickled  FitzGerald. 

I  was  staying  in  Woodbridge  at  the  "  Bull,"  kept 
whilom  by  "good  John  Grout,"  from  whom  FitzGerald 
procured  the  Scotch  ale  which  he  would  set  to  the  fire 
till  it  "just  had  a  smile  on  it,"  and  who  every  Christmas 
sent  him  a  present  of  mince-pies  and  a  jug  of  punch. 
An  excellent  man,  and  a  mighty  horse-dealer,  better 
versed  in  horse-flesh  than  in  literature.  After  a  visit 
from  Lord  Tennyson,  FitzGerald  told  Grout  that  Wood- 
bridge  should  feel  itself  honoured.  John  had  not  quite 
understood,  so  presently  took  a  chance  of  asking  my 
father  who  that  gentleman  was  Mr.  FitzGerald  had  been 
talking  of.  "  Mr.  Tennyson,"  said  my  father,  "  the 
poet-laureate."  "  Dissay,"  '  said  John,  warily  ;  "anyhow 
he  didn't  fare  to  know  much  about  bosses  when  I  showed 
him  over  my  stables." 

From  my  bedroom  window  I  could  see  FitzGerald's 
old  lodgings  over  Berry's,  where  he  sojourned  from  i860 
till  1873.  The  cause  of  his  leaving  them  is  only  half 
told  in  Mr.  Aldis  Wright's  edition  of  the  Letters  (p.  365, 


I    Suffolk  for  "  I  daresay." 


AN  AFTERMATH 


51 


footnote).  Mr.  Berry,  a  small  man,'  had  taken  to  himself 
a  second  wife,  a  buxom  widow  weighing  fourteen  stone  ; 
and  she,  being  very  genteel,  could  not  brook  the  idea 
of  keeping  a  lodger.  So  one  day  —  1  have  heard 
FitzGerald  tell  the  story  — came  a  timid  rap  at  the  door 
of  his  sitting-room,  a  deep  "  Now,  Berry,  be  tirm,"  and  a 
mild  "  Yes,  my  dear ; "  and  Berry  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  Hesitatingly  he  explained  that  "  Mrs.  Berry, 
you  know,  sir  —  really  extremely  sorry  —  but  not  been 
used,  sir,"  &c.,  &c.  Then  from  the  rear,  a  deep  "And 
you've  got  to  tell  him  about  Old  Gooseberry,  Berry,"  a 
deprecatory  "  Certainly,  my  love ; "  and  poor  Berry 
stammered  forth,  "And  I  am  told,  sir,  that  you  said  — 
you  said  —  I  had  long  been  old  Berry,  but  now  —  now 
you  should  call  me  Old  Gooseberry."  So  FitzGerald 
had  to  make  up  his  mind  at  last  to  migrate  to  his  own 
house,  Little  Grange,  which  he  had  bought  more  than 
nine  years  before,  and  enlarged  and  made  a  very  pretty 
place  of.  "  I  shall  never  live  in  it,  but  I  shall  die  there," 
he  once  said  to  a  friend.  Both  predictions  were  falsified, 
for  he  did  live  there  nearly  ten  years,  and  his  death  took 
place  at  Merton,  in  Norfolk. 

I    wandered   through    the   grounds   of    Little    Grange, 


[ «  Berry  was  not  a  'small  man,'  but  about  5  feet  S  inches  and  15 
stone  weight,     j.  i..] 


52 


EDWARD  FITZGERALD 


hardly  changed  except  that  there  were  now  no  doves.' 
There  was  the  "  Quarterdeck  "  walk,  and  there  was  the 
Summerhouse,  to  which  Charles  Keene  used  to  retire 
with  his  bagpipes.  I  can  hear  FitzGerald  saying  to  my 
father,  "  Keene  has  a  theory  that  we  open  our  mouths 
too  much ;  but  whether  he  bottles  up  his  wind  to  play 
the  bagpipes,  or  whether  he  plays  the  bagpipes  to  get  rid 
of  his  bottled-up  wind,  I  do  not  know,  and  I  don't 
suppose  I  ever  shall  know." 

From  Little  Grange  I  walked  two  miles  out  to  Bred- 
field  Hall,  FitzGerald's  birthplace.  It  is  a  stately  old 
Jacobean  mansion,  though  sadly  beplastered,  for  surely 
its  natural  colour  is  red-brick,  like  that  of  the  outbuild- 
ings. Among  these  I  came  upon  an  old,  old  labourer, 
who  "  remembered  Mr.  Edward  well.  Why,  he'd  often 
come  up,  he  would,  and  sit  on  that  there  bench  by  the 
canal,  nivver  sayin'  nothin'.  But  he  took  on  wonnerful, 
that  he  did,  if  ivver  they  touched  any  of  the  owd  trees." 
Not  many  of  them  are  standing  now,  and  what  there  are, 
are  all  "dying  atop." 

It  is  a  short  walk  from  Bredfield  Hall  to  Bredfield 
church  and  vicarage.  Both  must  be  a  good  deal  altered 
by  restoration  and  enlargement  since  the  days  (1834-57) 
of  George  Crabbe,  the  poet's  son,  about  whom  there  is 


[I  All  '  the  doves  '  were  pigeons.     Tennyson's  lines  are  account- 
able for  this  statement,     j.  L.] 


AN  AFTERMATH 


53 


so  much  in  the  Letters,  and  of  whom  I  have  often  heard 
tell.  He  went  up  to  the  great  Exhibition  of  185 1  ;  and, 
after  his  return,  my  father  asked  him  what  he  thought  of 
it.  "  Thought  of  it,  my  dear  sir  !  When  I  entered  that 
vast  emporium  of  the  world's  commerce,  I  lifted  up  my 
arms  and  shouted  for  amazement."  From  Bredfield  a 
charming  walk  through  the  fields  (trudged  how  many 
times  by  FitzGerald !)  leads  to  the  little  one-storeyed 
cottage  in  Boulge  Park,  where  he  lived  from  1838  till 
1853.  It  probably  is  scarcely  changed  at  all,  with  its 
low-pitched  thatch  roof  forming  eyebrows  over  the 
brown-shuttered  windows.  "  Cold  and  draughty,"  says 
the  woman  who  was  living  in  it,  and  who  showed  me 
FitzGerald's  old  parlour  and  bedroom.  The  very  nails 
were  still  in  the  walls  on  which  he  hung  his  big  pictures. 
Boulge  Hall,  then  tenantless,'  a  large  modern  white-brick 
house,  brought  me  soon  to  Boulge  church,  half-hidden  by 
trees.  FitzGerald  sleeps  beneath  its  red-brick  tower. 
His  grave  is  marked  by  a  flat  granite  monument,  carved 
with  a  cross-fleury.  Pity,  it  seemed,  that  no  roses  grew 
over  it.' 


['  Boulge  Hall  for  some  years  past  has  been  the  property  of  the 
Whites.     J.  L.] 

2  So  I  wrote  six  years  since;  and  now  a  rose-tree  does  grow 
over  it,  a  rose-tree  raised  in  Kew  Gardens  from  hips  brought  by 
William  Simpson,  the  veteran  artist -traveller,  from  Omar's  grave  at 


54 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


Afterwards,  for  auld  langsyne,  I  took  a  long  pull  down 
the  Deben  river ;  and  next  morning  I  visited  Farlingay 
Hall,  the  farmhouse  where  Carlyle  stayed  with  FitzGerald 
in  1855.  It  is  not  a  farmhouse  now,  but  a  goodly  old- 
fashioned  mansion,  red-tiled,  dormer-windowed,  and  all 
covered  with  roses  and  creepers.  A  charming  young 
lady  showed  me  some  of  the  rooms,  and  pointed  out  a 
fine  elm-tree  in  the  meadow,  beneath  which  Carlyle 
smoked  his  pipe.  Finally,  if  any  one  would  know  more 
of  the  country  round  Woodbridge,  let  him  turn  up  an 
article  in  the  'Magazine  of  Art'  for  1885,  by  Professor 
Sidney  Colvin,  on  "  East  Suffolk  Memories,  Inland  and 
Home." 

But,  besides  this,  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  Mr.  John 
Loder,  third  in  a  line  of  Woodbridge  booksellers,  who 
knew  FitzGerald  for  many  years,  and  has  much  to  tell  of 
him  which  were  well  worth  preserving.  From  him  I 
received  a  loan  of  Mr.  Elihu  Vedder's  splendid  illustra- 
tions to  the  *  Rubaiyat,'  and  a  couple  of  presents.  The 
first  is  a  pencil-drawing  of  FitzGerald's  yacht ;  the 
second,  a  book,  "  made  up,"  like  so  many  others,  by 
FitzGerald,  and  comprising  this  one,  three  French  plays, 


Naishapur,  and  planted  here  by  my  brother-members  of  the  Omar 
Khayyam  Club  on  7th  October  1893  ('  Concerning  a  Pilgrimage  to 
the  Grave  of  Edward  FitzGerald.'  By  Edward  Clodd.  Privately 
printed,  1894). 


o 

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pq 

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o 
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O 


Ph 


AN  AFTERMATH 


55 


a  privately  printed  article  on  Moore,  and  the  first  edition 
of  'A  Little  Dinner  at  Timmins's.'  Then  with  Mr. 
Barrett,  the  Ipswich  bookseller,  who  likewise  knew 
FitzGerald,  I  had  two  chance  meetings  ;  and  last  but  not 
least,  I  spent  a  most  pleasant  day  at  Colchester  with  Mr. 
Frederick  Spalding,  curator  now  of  the  museum  there. 

Sitting  in  his  alcove,  hewn  out  of  the  massy  wall 
of  the  Norman  keep,  he  poured  forth  story  after  story  of 
FitzGerald,  and  showed  me  his  memorials  of  their 
friendship.  This  was  a  copy  of  Miss  Edgeworth's 
<  Frank,'  in  German  and  English,  given  to  FitzGerald  at 
Edgeworthstown  {cf.  'Letters,'  p.  74);  and  that,  Fitz- 
Gerald's  own  school  copy  of  Boswell's  'Johnson,'  which 
he  gave  Mr.  Spalding,  first  writing  on  the  fly-leaf  —  "He 
was  pleased  to  say  to  me  one  morning  when  we  were 
alone  in  his  study,  '  Boswell,  I  am  almost  easier  with  you 
than  with  anybody'  (Vol.  v,  p,  75)."  Here,  again,  was 
a  scrap-book,  containing,  inter  alia,  a  long  and  interesting 
unpublished  letter  from  Carlyle  to  FitzGerald  about  the 
projected  Naseby  monument,  and  a  fragment  of  a  letter 
from  Frederic  Tennyson,  criticising  the  Laureate's  "  Wel- 
come to  Alexandra."  Not  being  a  short-hand  reporter  or 
American  interviewer,  I  am  not  going  to  try  to  reproduce 
Mr.  Spalding's  discourse  (he  must  do  that  himself  some 
day) ;  but  a  letter  of  his  in  the  '  East  Anglian  '  of  8th 
July  1889  I  will  reprint:  — 


56 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


The  fishing  Lugger  built  at  Lowestoft  was  named  the  "  Meum 
and  Tuum,"  commonly  called  by  the  fishermen  there  the  "  Mum 
and  Tum,"  much  to  Mr.  FitzGerald's  amusement ;  and  the  ship 
alluded  to  by  Mr.  Gosse  was  the  pretty  schooner  of  1 5  tons,  built  by 
Harvey,  of  Wyvenhoe,  and  named  the  "  Scandal,"  after  "  the  main 
staple  of  Woodbridge."  My  friend,  T.  N.,  the  skipper,  gave  a 
different  account  of  the  origin  of  the  name.  I  was  standing  with  him 
on  the  Lowestoft  Fish  Market,  close  to  which  the  little  "Scandal" 
was  mooi^ed,  after  an  early  dive  from  her  deck,  when  Tom  was 
addressed  by  one  of  two  ladies:  "Pray,  my  man,  can  you  tell  me 
who  owns  that  very  pretty  yacht  ? "  "  Mr.  Edward  FitzGerald  of 
Woodbridge,  ma'am,"  said  Tom,  touching  his  cap.  "  And  can  you 
tell  us  her  name  ? "  "  The  '  Scandal,'  ma'am."  "  Dear  me  I  how 
came  he  to  select  such  a  very  peculiar  name  ?  "  "  Well,  ma'am,  the 
fact  is,  all  the  other  names  were  taken  up,  so  that  we  were  forced  to 
have  either  that  or  none."     The  ladies  at  once  moved  on. 

Mr.  Spalding,  further,  has  placed  in  my  hands  a  bundle 
of  seventy  letters,  written  to  himself  by  FitzGerald  between 
1862  and  1882.  Some  of  them  relate  to  mere  business 
matters  (such  as  the  building  of  Little  Grange),  and 
some  to  private  affairs ;  but  the  following  extracts  have 
a  high  and  exceptional  value,  as  illustrating  a  feature 
in  FitzGerald's  life  that  is  little  touched  on  in  the 
published  Letters'  —  his  strong  love  of  the  sea  and  of 
sailors :  — 


«  I  append   throughout   the   page  of  the  published  letters  that 
comes  nearest  in  date. 


AN  AFTERMATH 


57 


"Geldestone  Hall,  Beccles,  Feb.  5,  1862. 
['  Letters,'  p.  284.] 

"...  I  have  been  twice  to  old  Wright,  who  has  built 
a  Boat  of  about  14  feet  on  speculation:  and  has  laid 
down  the  keel  of  a  new  wherry,  on  speculation  also.  But 
he  has  as  yet  no  Orders,  and  thinks  his  Business  is  like 
to  be  very  slack.  Indeed  the  Rail  now  begins  to  creep 
over  the  Marsh,  and  even  to  come  pretty  close  to  the 
River,  over  which  it  is  to  cross  into  Beccles.  But  you,  I 
think,  surmise  that  this  Rail  will  not  hurt  Wright  so  much 
as  he  fears  it  will.  Poor  old  Boy —  I  found  him  well  and 
hearty  on  Sunday ;  but  on  Sunday  night  and  Monday  he 
was  seized  with  such  Rheumatism  (I  think  Rheumatic 
Gout)  in  one  leg  as  has  given  him  no  rest  or  sleep  since. 
It  is,  he  says,  'as  if  somethin'  was  a-tearin'  the  Flesh  off 
his  Bones,'  I  showed  him  two  of  the  guilty  Screws  which 
had  almost  let  my  Leaden  Keel  part  from  the  wooden 
one:  he  says  he  had  desired  the  Smith  not  to  make 
too  large  heads,  and  the  Smith  accordingly  made  them  too 
small ;  and  some  Apprentice  had,  he  supposes,  fixed  them 
in  without  further  inspection.  There  is  such  honesty 
and  cheerfulness  in  Wright's  Saxon  Eyes  and  Counte- 
nance when  he  faces  such  a  charge  as  disarms  all  one's 
wrath." 


58 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


"ii  Marine  Terrace,  Lowestoft, /«/y  17,  '65. 
['  Letters,'  p.  301.] 

"...  Yes,  I  sent  Newson  and  Cooper  home  to  the 
Shipwreck  Dinner  at  Woodbridge,  and  supposing  they 
would  be  maudlin  on  Saturday,  gave  them  Sunday  to 
repent  on,  and  so  have  lost  the  only  fine  Days  we  have 
yet  had  for  sailing.  To-day  is  a  dead  Calm.  '  These  are 
my  Trials ! '  as  a  fine  Gentleman  said  to  Wesley,  when  his 
Servant  put  rather  too  many  Coals  on  the  Fire. 

"...  Somehow,  I  always  feel  at  home  here,  —  partly 
that  the  place  itself  is  very  suited  to  me :  I  have  known 
it  these  40  years,  particularly  connected  with  my  Sister 
Kerrich,  whose  Death  has  left  a  sort  of  sad  interest  shed 
over  it.  It  was  a  mere  Toss-up  in  i860  whether  I  was  to 
stay  at  Woodbridge,  or  come  to  reside  here,  when  my 
residing  would  have  been  of  some  use  to  her  then,  and 
her  Children  now. 

"  Now  then  I  am  expecting  my  '  Merry  Men  '  from 
Woodbridge,  to  get  out  my  Billyboy,  and  get  into  what 
Sailors  call  the  Doldrums.  .  .  ." 

"3  SiON  Hill,  Ramsgate,  August  25/65. 
['Letters,'  p.  301.] 
"  I  got  here  all  right  and  very  quick  from  our  Harbour 
on  Monday  Morns.     And  here  I  shall  be  till  Monday : 
then  shall  probably  go  with  my  Brother  [Peter]  to  Dover 


AN  AFTERMATH 


59 


and  Calais :  and  so  hope  to  be  home  by  the  middle  or 
later  part  of  next  week.  .  .  .  To-day  is  going  on  a  Regatta 
before  the  windows  where  I  write  :  shall  I  never  have 
done  with  these  tiresome  Regattas  ?  And  to-night  the 
Harbour  is  to  be  captured  after  an  obstinate  defence  by 
36-pounders  in  a  sham  fight,  so  we  shall  go  deaf  to  Bed. 
We  had  really  a  famous  sail  from  Felixtow  Ferry  ;  getting 
out  of  it  at  7  A.M.,  and  being  off  Broadstairs  (3  miles 
from  here)  as  the  clock  on  the  shore  struck  twelve.  After 
that  we  were  an  hour  getting  into  this  very  Port,  because 
of  a  strong  Tide  against  us.  .  .  ." 

"  II  Marine  Terrace,  Lowestoft,  March  28,  1866. 
['Letters,'  p.  303.] 

"...  The  change  has  been  of  some  use,  I  think,  in 
brightening  me.  My  long  solitary  habit  of  Life  now 
begins  to  tell  upon  me,  and  I  am  got  past  the  very  cure 
which  only  could  counteract  it:  Company  or  Society:  of 
which  I  have  lost  the  Taste  too  long  to  endure  again. 
So,  as  I  have  made  my  Bed,  I  must  lie  in  it  —  and  die  in 
it.  .  .  ." 

"Lowestoft,  April  2,  '66.     [lb.] 
"...   I  am  going  to  be  here  another  week  :  as  I  think 
it  really  has  freshened  me  up  a  bit.     Especially  going  out 
in  a  Boat  with  my  good  Fletcher,  though  I  get  perished 


6o 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


with  the  N.E,  wind.  I  believe  I  never  shall  do  unless 
in  a  Lodging,  as  I  have  lived  these  40  years.  It  is  too 
late,  I  doubt,  to  reform  in  a  House  of  one's  own.  .  .  . 
Dove,'  unlike  Noah's  Dove,  brings  no  report  of  a  green 
leaf  when  I  ask  him  about  the  Grass  seed.  .  .  ." 

"  Lowestoft,  April  3,  '66.  [lb.] 
"...  Looking  over  the  Tombstones  of  the  old  Church- 
yard this  morning,  I  observed  how  very  many  announced 
the  Lease  of  Life  expired  at  about  the  same  date  which  I 
entered  upon  last  Saturday  [fifty-seven].  I  know  it  is 
time  to  set  one's  House  in  order  —  when  Mr.  Dove  has 
done  his  part." 

"  CowES,  Isle  of  Wight,  Friday,  Jtme  30,  1866. 
['Letters,'  p.  305.] 
'"  We  got  here  very  well  on  Tuesday  evens.  Wednesday 
I  sent  Newson  and  Crew  over  to  Portsmouth,  where  they 
didn't  see  the  one  thing  I  sent  them  for,  namely,  Nelson's 
Ship,  the  'Victory,'  but  where  they  bought  two  Pair  of 
Trousers,  which  they  call  '  Dungaree.'  Yesterday  we 
went  to  Poole  —  a  place  I  had  long  a  very  slight  Desire 
to  see  ;  and  which  was  not  worth  the  seeing.  To-day  we 
came  back  here :  I  regretting  rather  we  had  not  run 
further  along  the  Coast  to  Weymouth  and  Teignmouth, 


I  Mr.  Dove  was  the  builder  of  Little  Grange. 


AN  AFTERMATH 


6i 


where  I  should  have  seen  my  Friend  Mansfield  the  Ship- 
wright. It  was  a  little  weakness  of  mine,  in  not  changing 
orders,  but,  having  talked  of  going  only  to  Poole,  I  left  it 
as  it  was.  The  weather  has  been  only  too  fine  :  the  sea 
too  calm.  Here  we  are  in  front  of  this  pretty  place,  with 
many  Yachts  at  anchor  and  sailing  about  us  :  nearly  all 
Schooners,  little  and  great,  of  all  which  I  think  we  are 
the  '  Pitman '  (see  Moor's  '  Words ').  I  must  say  I  am 
very  tired  of  seeing  only  Schooners.  Newson  was  beaten 
horribly  yesterday  by  a  Ryde  open  Boat  of  about  7  or  8 
tons,  which  stood  right  into  the  wind,  but  he  soon  after- 
wards completely  distanced  a  Billy-boy,  which  put  us  in 
Spirits  again.  I  am  very  contented  (in  my  way)  pottering 
about  here  alone,  or  with  my  Crew  of  two,  and  I  believe 
c*^  bundle  on  for  a  Month  in  such  a  way.  But  I  shall 
soon  be  home.  I  have  thought  of  you  To-day  when  your 
Sale  is  going  on,  at  the  same  time  as  my  Sail.  Pretty 
Wit!  .  .  ." 

The  next  letter  refers  to  an  accident  that  befell  the 
Scandal.  She  was  lying  at  Lowestoft,  in  the  Fishmarket 
basin,  when  a  huge  Continental  steamer  came  drifting 
down  on  her.  "  Mr.  FitzGerald,"  so  Mr.  Spalding  tells 
me,  "just  said  in  his  slow  melodious  voice,'  'My  poor 


'   His  voice  was  un  forge  table.     Mr.  Mowbray  Donne  quotes  in  a 
letter   this   passage   from   FitzGerald's  published  Letters:    "What 


62 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


little  ship  will  be  cracked  like  a  nutshell ; '  and  he  took 
my  arm  to  force  me  ashore.  But  I  refused  to  go  unless 
he  went  too,  and  just  then  the  cable  held  on  the  weather- 
side  of  the  steamer  towering  up  above  us ;  still,  our 
'channel-boards,'  over  which  the  shrouds  are  tautened, 
were  crushed  up  flat  to  the  yacht's  side,  and  perhaps 
some  stanchions  were  injured  too." 

"Scandal.  Sept.  19,  '66.  [lb.] 
"...  Mr.  Manby  is  wrong  about  our  getting  no  com- 
pensation for  the  Damage  (so  far  as  it  c"^  be  seeji)  inflicted 
on  us  by  the  steamer.  Whether  we  could  claim  it  or  not, 
the  Steamer  Captain  granted  it :  being  (as  Newson  says) 
quite  a  Gentleman,  &c.  So  we  have  had  the  Carpenters 
for  two  Days,  who  have  restored  the  broken  Stanchions, 
&c.  What  mischief  the  Shock  may  have  done  to  the' 
Body  of  the  Ship  remains  to  be  proved  :  'Anyhow,  it 
can't  have  done  her  any  good,'  says  Job's  Comforter, 
Capt°-  Newson.  The  Steamer's  Captain  admitted  that 
he  had  expected  us  to  be  cracked  like  a  Walnut. 


bothered  me  in  London  was  —  all  the  Clever  People  going  wrong 
with  such  clever  Reasons  for  so  doing  which  I  couldn't  confute." 
And  he  adds  :  "  How  good  that  is.  I  can  hear  him  saying  'which  I 
couldn't  confute '  with  a  break  on  his  tone  of  voice  at  the  end  of 
'couldn't.'  You  remember  how  he  used  to  speak  —  like  a  cricket- 
ball,  with  a  break  on  it,  or  like  his  own  favourite  image  of  the  wave 
falling  over.     A  Suffolk  wave  — that  was  a  point." 


AN  AFTERMATH 


63 


"  Now,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  of  this.  You  know  of 
Newson's  lending  Posh^  money.  I  have  advised  that, 
beside  an  I.O.U.  from  Posh,  he  should  give  security 
upon  some  of  his  Effects  :  Boats,  Nets,  or  other  Gear. 
Tell  me  how  this  should  be  done,  if  you  can  :  the  Form 
of  Writing  required :  and  perhaps  what  Interest  Newson 
should  have  on  his  Money. 

"Last  night  at  the  'Suffolk'  I  was  where  Newson, 
Posh,  &  Co.  were  at  their  Ale :  a  little  of  which  got  into 
Newson's  head :  who  began  to  touch  up  Posh  about  such 
an  Apparatus  of  Rockets,  Mortars,  etc.,  for  the  Rescue 
of  those  two  stranded  Vessels,  when  he  declares  that  he 
and  one  or  two  Felixstowe  Men  would  have  pushed  off  a 
Boat  through  the  pauses  of  the  Surf,  and  done  all  that 
was  wanted.  He  had  seen,  and  been  on,  the  Shipwash 
scores  of  times  when  the  jump  of  the  Ship  pitched  him  on 
his  Back,  and  sent  the  Topmast  flying.  So  had  Posh 
on  the  Home-sand  here,  he  said ;  his  Sand  was  just  as 
bad  as  Tom's,  he  knew;  and  the  Lowestoft  Men  just 
as  good  as  the  Felixstowe,  &c.  I  fomented  the  Quarrel 
gently:  —  no  Quarrel,  or  1  should  not :  all  Newson  meant 
(which  1  believe  is  very  true)  there  are  so  ma?iy  men  here, 


'  Posh  was  the  nickname  of  a  favourite  sailor,  the  lugger's  skipper, 
as  Bassey  was  Newson's.  Posser,  mentioned  presently,  was,  Mr. 
Spalding  thinks,  Posh's  brother,  at  any  rate  a  fisherman  and  boat- 
man, with  whom  Mr.  FitzGerald  used  to  sail  in  Posh's  absence. 


64 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


and  no  one  Man  to  command^  that  they  are  worse  off  with 
all  their  Men  and  Boats  than  at  the  Ferry  [Bawdsey], 
where  Newson  or  Percival  are  Spokesmen  and  Masters. 
This  I  have  explained  to  Posh  To-day,  as  he  was  sitting, 
like  Abraham,  in  his  Tent  —  like  an  Apostle,  mending 
his  nets.  '  Posh,  your  Frill  was  out  last  night  ? '  '  No  — 
no  — only  I  didn't  like  to  hear  the  Lowestoft  Chaps 
weren't  as  good,  etc.,  especially  before  the  Stranger  Men 
from  Harwich,  etc'  " 

"Lowestoft,  October  ^^  '66.  [lb.] 
"...  'Posh'  went  off  in  his  new,  old  Lugger,'  which 
I  call  'The  Porpoise,'  on  Thursday:  came  in  yesterday 
with  a  Last  and  a  half  of  Herrings :  and  is  just  put  to 
Sea  again,  Sunday  though  it  be.  It  is  reported  to  be  an 
extraordinary  Herring  Year,  along  shore:  and  now  he 
goes  into  deeper  Water.  I  am  amused  to  see  Newson's 
devotion  to  his  younger  Friend  :  he  won't  leave  him  a 
moment  if  possible,  was  the  first  to  see  him  come  in 
yesterday,  and  has  just  watched  him  out  of  sight.  He 
declined  having  any  Bill  of  Sale  on  Posh's  Goods  for 
Money  lent;  old  as  he  is  (enough  to  distrust  all  Man- 
kind)—  has  perfect  reliance  on  his  Honour,  Industry, 
Skill,  and  Luck.     This  is  a  pretty  Sight  to  me.     I  tell 


I  A  second-hand  boat  that  Posh  bought  at  Southwold  before  the 
building  of  the  "  Meum  and  Tuum." 


AN  AFTERMATH 


65 


Newson  he  has  at  last  found  his  Master,  and  become 
possessed  of  that  troublesome  thing :  an  anxious  Regard 
for  some  one. 

"  I  was  noticing  for  several  Days  how  many  Robins 
were  singing  along  the  '  London  Road '  here ;  and  (with- 
out my  speaking  of  it)  Lusia  Kerrich  told  me  they  had 
almost  a  Plague  of  Robins  at  Gelson  [Geldestone]  :  3  or 
4  coming  into  the  Breakfast  room  every  morning ;  getting 
under  Kerrich's  Legs,  &c.  And  yesterday  Posh  told  me 
that  three  came  to  his  Lugger  out  at  Sea ;  also  another 
very  pretty  Bird,  whose  name  he  didn't  know,  but  which 
he  caught  and  caged  in  the  Binnacle,  where  it  was  found 
dead  in  due  time.  .  .  . 

'■'P.S.  —  Posh  (as  Cooper,  whom  I  question,  tells  me) 
was  over  12  miles  from  Land  when  the  four  Robins  came 
aboard  :  a  Bird  which  he  nor  Cooper  had  ever  seen  to 
visit  a  Ship  before.  The  Bird  he  shut  up  in  the  Binnacle 
he  describes  as  of  'all  sorts  of  Colours'  —  perhaps  a 
Tomtit!  — and  I  fear  it  was  roasted  in  the  Binnacle,  when 
Posh  lighted  up  at  night,  forgetting  his  Guest.  '  Poor 
little  fallow ! '" 

"LovvKSTOFT,  Dec.  4,  1866,     [lb.] 
"  1  am  sorry  you  can't  come,  but  have  no  doubt  that 
you  are  right  in  not  coming.    You  may  imagine  what  I  do 
with  myself  here  :  somehow,  I  do  believe  the  Seaside  is 


66 


EDWARD  FITZGERALD 


more  of  my  Element  than  elsewhere,  and  the  old  Lodging 
Life  suits  me  best.  That,  however,  I  have  at  Wood- 
bridge  ;  and  can  be  better  treated  nowhere  than  there. 

"  I  have  just  seen  Posh,  who  had  been  shooting  his 
Lines  in  the  Morning:  had  fallen  asleep  after  his  Sunday 
Dinner,  and  rose  up  like  a  Giant  refreshed  when  I  went 
into  his  house.  His  little  Wife,  however,  told  him  he 
must  go  and  tidy  his  Hair,  which  he  was  preparing  to 
obey.  Oh !  these  are  the  People  who  somehow  interest 
me;  and  if  I  were  not  now  too  far  advanced  on  the 
Road  to  Forgetfulness,  I  should  be  sad  that  my  own  Life 
had  been  such  a  wretched  Concern  in  comparison.  But 
it  is  too  late,  even  to  lament,  now.  .  .  . 

"  There  is  a  Wedding-party  next  door :  at  No.  1 1  ;  I 
being  in  12  ;  Becky  having  charge  of  both  houses.  There 
is  incessant  vulgar  Giggling  and  Tittering,  and  5  meals  a 
Day,  Becky  says.  Oh  !  these  are  not  such  Gentlefolks  as 
my  Friends  on  the  Beach,  who  have  not  5  meals  a  Day. 
I  wonder  how  soon  I  shall  quarrel  with  them,  however  — 
I  don't  mean  the  Wedding  Party.  ...  At  Eight  or  half- 
past  I  go  to  have  a  Pipe  at  Posh's,  if  he  isn't  half-drunk 
with  his  Friends." 

"  Lowestoft,  Jan.  5/67. 
['Letters,'  p.  306.] 

"  I  really  was  to  have  gone  home  To-day,  but  made  a 
little    Business    with    Posh    an    excuse  for  waiting  over 


AN  AFTERMATH 


67 


Sunday.  This  very  Day  he  signs  an  Agreement  for  a 
new  Herring-lugger,  of  which  he  is  to  be  Captain,  and  to 
which  he  will  contribute  some  Nets  and  Gear.  I  daresay 
I  had  better  have  left  all  this  alone  :  but,  if  moderately 
lucky,  the  Vessel  will  pay  somethings  at  any  rate  :  and  in 
the  meanwhile  it  really  does  me  some  good,  I  believe, 
to  set  up  this  little  Interest  here :  and  even  if  I  lose 
money,  I  get  some  Fun  for  it.  So  now  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  drop  Esquire,  and  be  addressed  as  '  Herring- 
merchant^'  for  the  future. 

"  Posh  has  been  doing  well  this  week  with  Cod-fishing, 
as  only  one  other  Boat  has  been  out  (owing  to  the  others 
not  having  a  Set-net  to  catch  bait  with).  His  fish  have 
fetched  a  good  price,  even  from  the  old  Jew,  Levi.'  I 
believe  I  have  smoked  my  Pipe  every  evening  but  one 
with  Posh  at  his  house,  which  his  quiet  little  Wife  keeps 
tidy  and  pleasant.  The  Man  is,  I  do  think,  of  a  Royal 
Nature.  I  have  told  him  he  is  liable  to  one  Danger  (the 
Hare  with  many  Friends) — so  many  wanting  him  to  drink. 
He  says,  it's  quite  true,  and  that  he  is  often  obliged  to 
run  away  :  as  I  believe  he  does  :  for  his  House  shows  all 


'  This  Levi  it  was,  the  proprietor  of  a  fish -shop  at  Lowestoft,  that 
used  always  to  ask  FitzGerald  of  the  welfare  of  his  brother  John : 
"And  how  is  the  General,  bless  him  ?" 

"  How  many  times,  Mr.  Levi,  must  I  tell  you  my  brother  is  no 
General,  and  never  was  in  the  army  ?" 

"Ah,  well,  it  is  my  mistake,  no  doubt.     But  anyhow,  bless  him." 


68 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


Temperance  and  Order.  This  little  Lecture  I  give  him  — 
to  go  the  way,  I  suppose,  of  all  such  Advice,  .  .  ." 

"i2  Marine  Terrace,  Lowestoft,  Feb.  8,  '67. 
['Letters,'  p.  308.] 

"  Posh  shall  be  at  the  Train  for  his  Hare.  When  I 
went  to  look  for  him  last  Night,  he  was  in  his  Shod,  by 
the  light  of  a  candle  examining  a  Petman  Pig  [Suffolk  for 
'the  smallest  pig  in  a  litter'],  about  the  size  of  Newson's 
Watch,  and  swell'd  out  '  as  taut  as  a  Drum,'  Posh  said. 
A  Friend  had  given  him  this  Production  of  Nature  :  it 
hadn't  grown  a  bit  (except  swelling  up)  for  3  weeks,  in 
spite  of  Posh's  Medicines  last  Sunday  :  so  as  he  is 
'  a'most  minded  to  make  away  with  it,  poor  little  thing.' 
He  almost  let  it  drop  when  I  suddenly  appeared,  in  a 
theatrical  Style,  at  the  Door. 

"  You  seem  to  think  there  is  no  hurry  about  a  Gardener 
[at  Little  Grange]  just  yet.     Mr.  Berry  still  thinks  that 

Miss 's  man  would  do  well :  as  it  is,  he  goes  out  for 

work,  as  Miss has  not  full  Employment  for  him.     He 

and  his  Wife  are  very  respectable  too,  I  hear.  So  in 
spite  of  my  Fear  of  Unprotected  Females,  &c.,  he  might 
do.  Perhaps  you  might  see  him  one  day  as  you  pass  the 
Unprotected  one's  Grounds,  and  hear.  I  have  hardly 
work  enough  for  one  Whole  Man,  as  is  the  case  with  my 
Neighbour,  who  yet  is  a  Female.  .  .  ." 


o 

X 

h 


AN  AFTERMATH 


69 


"  'Becky's,'  Saturday,  May  18,  '67.  [lb.] 
"...  Posh  is  very  busy  with  his  Lugger  [the  '  Meum 
and  Tuum'],  which  will  be  decked  by  the  middle  of  next 
Week.  I  have  just  left  him  :  having  caught  him  with  a 
Pot  of  white  paint  (some  of  which  was  on  his  Face),  and 
having  made  him  dine  on  cold  Beef  in  the  Suffolk  Hotel 
Bowling-green,  washing  all  down  with  two  Tankards  of 
Ballard's  Ale.  He  was  not  displeased  to  dine  abroad  ; 
as  this  is  Saturday,  when  he  says  there  are  apt  to  be 
*  Squalls '  at  home,  because  of  washing,  &c.  His  little 
Boy  is  on  the  mending  hand  :  safe,  indeed,  I  hope,  and 
believe,  unless  they  let  him  into  Draughts  of  Air :  which 
I  have  warned  them  against. 

"  Yesterday  we  went  to  Yarmouth,  and  bought  a  Boat 
for  the  Lugger,  and  paraded  the  Town,  and  dined  at  the 
Star  Tavern  {^Beefsteak  for  one),  and  looked  into  the 
Great  Church  :  where  when  Posh  pulled  off  his  Cap,  and 
stood  erect  but  not  irreverent,  I  thought  he  looked  as 
good  an  Image  of  the  Mould  that  Man  was  originally 
cast  in,  as  you  may  chance  to  see  in  the  Temple  of  The 
Maker  in  these  Days. 

'*  The  Artillery  were  blazing  away  on  the  Denes  ;  and 
the  little  Band-master,  who  played  with  his  Troop  here  last 
summer,  joined  us  as  we  were  walking,  and  told  Posh  not 
to  lag  behind,  for  he  was  not  at  all  ashamed  to  be  seen 
walking  with  him.     The  little    well-meaning  Ass !  .  .  ." 


70 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


"Lowestoft,  Longest  Day,  '67. 
['  Letters,'  p.  309.] 

"...  As  to  talking  over  Posh,  etc.,  with  me,  there  is 
plenty  of  time  for  that ;  indeed,  as  yet  we  cannot  come  to 
a  final  estimate  of  the  Property,  since  all  is  not  yet 
bought :  sails,  cables,  warps,  Ballast,  &c.  As  to  his  ser- 
vices hitherto,  I  yesterday  gave  him  ;^2o,  telling  him  that 
/couldn't  compute  how  much  he  had  done  for  me  :  nor 
could  he,  he  said,  and  would  be  contented  with  anything. 

"  No  cloven  Hoof  as  yet !  It  was  his  Birthday  (yester- 
day), and  we  all  had  a  walk  to  the  new  Lugger,  and  then 
to  Mutford,  where  we  had  a  fresh-water  Sail  on  the 
Broad :  Ale  at  the  Inn,  and  Punch  in  the  '  Suffolk ' 
Bowling-green  at  night.  Oh  !  'tis  a  pleasant  Time.  But 
it  passes,  passes.  I  have  not  been  out  to  Sea  once  since 
we've  been  here  ;  only  loitering  about  on  shore.  .  .  ." 

"Lowestoft,  April  14/68. 
['Letters,'  p.  316.] 
"...  Meanwhile  the  Crews  loiter  about  the  Town  : 
A.  Percival,  Frost,  dead  Jack  in  his  Kingfisher  Guernsey: 
to  whom  Posh  does  the  honours  of  the  place.  He  is  still 
busy  with  his  Gear :  his  hands  of  a  fine  Mahogany,  from 
Stockholm  tar,  but  I  see  he  has  some  return  of  hoseness. 
I  believe  that  he  and  I  shall  now  sign  the  Mortgage 
Papers  that  make  him  owner  of  Half  Meum  and  Tuum. 


^^'^u^       A>^vo      <^ot^      A^^      ^     ^f^oUC^^ 


c^^^^    ^<7^     /6t^^  ^    jcpCv^r^X    V  ^Cv^,^ 


^       V-  — 


^O)     «ric:^    >, — ;    /^ ,     *v^ 


r- 


<r>y\^ 


AN  AFTERMATH 


71 


I  only  get  out  of  him  that  he  can't  say  he  sees  anything 
much  amiss  in  the  Deed.  He  is  delightful  with  his  Babe, 
whose  name  is  Clara  —  '  Hallo,  Clara  ! '  etc.  .  .  ." 

"Lowestoft,  Tuesday^  June  16,  1868.  [lb.] 
"...  Thank  you  for  the  Books,  which  were  all  right : 
except  in  so  far  that  they  were  anointed  by  the  oozings 
of  some  Rhubarb  Jam  which  Mrs.  Berry  very  kindly  intro- 
duced among  them.  I  am  at  my  Don  Quixote  again  ; 
and  really  only  sorry  that  I  can  read  it  so  much  more 
easily  this  year  than  last  that  I  shall  be  all  the  sooner 
done  with  it.  Mackerel  still  come  in  very  slow,  some- 
times none  at  all :  the  dead-calm  nights  play  the  deuce 
with  the  Fishing,  and  I  see  no  prospect  of  change  in  the 
weather  till  the  Mackerel  shall  be  changing  their  Quarters. 
I  am  vexed  to  see  the  Lugger  come  in  Day  after  day  so 
poorly  stored  after  all  the  Labour  and  Time  and  Anxiety 
given  to  the  work  by  her  Crew ;  but  I  can  do  no  more, 
and  at  anyrate  take  my  own  share  of  the  Loss  very 
lightly.  I  can  afford  it  better  than  they  can.  I  have 
told  Newson  to  set  sail  and  run  home  any  Day,  Hour,  or 
Minute,  when  he  wishes  to  see  his  Wife  and  Family.  But 
at  present  he  seems  contented  to  eat  Fish  here  :  whether 
some  of  the  few  ^ Stulls^ '  which  Posh  brings  in,  or  what 
his   now   innumerable   friends  the   Trawlers    are    always 


'  An  extra  large  mackerel.  —  vSee  Words  and  Phrases. 


72 


EDWARD  FITZGERALD 


offering.  In  fact,  I  think  Newson  looks  to  Lowestoft  as 
a  Summer  Pasture,  and  is  in  no  hurry  to  leave  it.  He 
lives  here  well  for  nothing,  except  Bread,  Cheese,  and 
Tea  and  Sugar.  He  has  now  taken  to  Cocoa,  however, 
which  he  calls  '  Cuckoo  '  to  my  hearing  ;  having  become 
enamoured  of  that  Beverage  in  the  Lugger,  where  it  is 
the  order  of  the  day.  .  .  ." 

"Lowestoft,  Monday,  July  13,  '68.  [lb.] 
"...  Posh  made  up  and  paid  off  on  Saturday.  I 
have  not  yet  asked  him,  but  I  suppose  he  has  just  paid 
his  way  :  I  mean,  so  far  as  Grub  goes.  The  Brother  of 
one  of  his  Crew  was  killed  the  night  we  got  here,  in  a 
Lugger  next  to  Posh's,  by  a  Barque  running  into  her,  and 
knocking  him  —  or,  I  doubt,  crushing  him  —  overboard. 

"...  When  aj-e  we  to  have  rain  ?  Last  night  it  light- 
ened to  the  South,  as  we  sat  in  the  Suffolk  Gardens  —  I, 
and  Posh,  and  Mrs.  Posh,  and  Sparks ;  Newson  and  Jack 
being  with  some  other  friends  in  another  Department. 
Posh  and  I  had  been  sauntering  in  the  Churchyard,  and 
reading  the  Epitaphs:  looking  at  his  own  little  boy's 
Grave  —  '  Poor  little  Fellow  !  He  wouldn't  let  his  Mother 
go  near  him  — I  can't  think  why  — but  kept  his  little 
Fingers  twisted  in  my  Hair,  and  wouldn't  let  me  go; 
and  when  Death  strook  him,  as  I  may  say,  halloo'd  out 
'  Daddy  ! '  " 


AN  AFTERMATH 


73 


"Lowestoft,  Sunday,  Aug.  30,  '6g. 
['Letters,'  p.  318.] 

"...  You  will  see  by  the  enclosed  that  Posh  has  had 
a  little  better  luck  than  hitherto.  One  reason  for  my  not 
going  to  Woodbridge  is,  that  I  think  it  possible  this  N.E. 
wind  may  blow  him  hither  to  tan  his  nets.  Only  please 
God  it  don't  tan  him  and  his  people  first.   .  .   . 

"Lord  and  Lady  Hatherley  were  here  last  week  —  no, 
this  week  :  and  I  met  them  on  the  pier  one  day,  as 
unaffected  as  ever.  He  is  obliged,  I  believe,  to  carry  the 
Great  Seal  about  with  him ;  I  told  him  T  wondered  how 
he  could  submit  to  be  so  bored  ;  on  which  my  lady  put  in 
about  "  Sense  of  Duty,"  etcetera-rorum.  But  I  (having  no 
Great  Seal  to  carry)  went  off  to  Southwold  on  Wednesday, 
and  lay  off  there  in  the  calm  nights  till  yesterday :  going 
to  Dunwich,  which  seemed  to  me  rather  delightful. 

"Newson  brought  in  another  Moth  some  days  ago; 
brownish,  with  a  red  rump.  I  dare  say  very  common, 
but  I  have  taken  enormous  pains  to  murder  it :  buying  a 
lump  of  some  poison  at  Southwold  which  the  Chemist 
warned  me  to  throw  overboard  directly  the  Moth  was 
done  for :  for  fear  of  Jack  and  Newson  being  found  dead 
in  their  rugs.  The  Moth  is  now  pinned  down  in  a  lucifer 
match  box,  awaiting  your  inspection.  You  know  I  shall 
be  glad  to  see  you  at  any  time.  .  .  ." 


74 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


"  Lowestoft,  Sept.  4,  '69.     [lb.] 
"  I  wish  you  7tiere  coming  here  this  Evening,  as  I  have 
several  things  to  talk  over. 

"  I  would  not  meddle  with  the  Regatta  —  to  Newson's 
sorrow,  who  certainly  must  have  carried  off  the  second 
£10  prize.  And  the  Day  ended  by  vexing  me  more  than 
it  did  him.  Posh  drove  in  here  the  day  before  to  tan  his 
nets  :  could  not  help  making  one  with  some  old  friends  in 
a  Boat-race  on  the  Monday,  and  getting  very  fuddled 
with  them  on  the  Suffolk  Green  (where  I  was)  at  night. 
After  all  the  pains  I  have  taken,  and  all  the  real  anxiety 
I  have  had.  And  worst  of  all,  after  the  repeated  promises 
he  had  made !  I  said,  there  must  now  be  an  end  of 
Confidence  between  us,  so  far  as  that  was  concerned,  and 
I  would  so  far  trouble  myself  about  him  no  more.  But 
when  I  came  to  reflect  that  this  was  but  an  outbreak 
among  old  friends  on  an  old  occasion,  after  (I  do  believe) 
months  of  sobriety ;  that  there  was  no  concealment  about 
it ;  and  that  though  obstinate  at  first  as  to  how  little 
drunk,  &c.,  he  was  very  repentant  afterwards  —  I  cannot 
let  this  one  flaw  weigh  against  the  general  good  of  the  man. 
I  cannot  if  I  would  :  what  then  is  the  use  of  trying?  But 
my  confidence  in  that  respect  must  be  so  far  shaken,  and 
it  vexes  me  to  think  that  I  can  never  be  sure  of  his  not 
being  overtaken  so.  I  declare  that  it  makes  me  feel 
ashamed  very  much  to  play  the  Judge  on  one  who  stands 


AN  AFTERMATH 


75 


immeasurably  above  me  in  the  scale,  whose  faults  are 
better  than  so  .many  virtues.  Was  not  this  very  outbreak 
that  of  a  great  genial  Boy  among  his  old  Fellows  ?  True, 
a  Promise  was  broken.  Yes  :  but  if  the  Whole  Man  be 
of  the  Royal  Blood  of  Humanity,  and  do  Justice  in  the 
Main,  what  are  fAe  people  to  say  ?  He  thought,  if  he 
thought  at  all,  that  he  kept  his  promise  in  the  main.  But 
there  is  no  use  talking :  unless  I  part  company  wholly,  I 
suppose  I  must  take  the  evil  with  the  good. 

"  Well,  Winter  will  soon  be  here,  and  no  more  '  Suffolk  ' 
Bowling-greens.  Once  more  I  want  you  to  help  in  finding 
me  a  lad,  or  boy,  or  lout,  who  will  help  me  to  get  through 
the  long  Winter  nights — whether  by  cards  or  reading  — 
now  that  my  eyes  are  not  so  up  to  their  work  as  they 
were.  I  think  they  are  a  little  better :  which  I  attribute 
to  the  wearing  of  these  hideous  Goggles,  which  keep  out 
Sun,  Sea,  Sand,  &c.  But  I  must  not,  if  I  could,  tax  them 
as  I  have  done  over  books  by  lamplight  till  Midnight. 
Do  pray  consider  this  for  me,  and  look  about.  I  thought 
of  a  sharp  lad  —  that  son  of  the  Broker  —  if  he  could  read 
a  little  decently  he  would  do.  Really  one  has  lived  quite 
long  enough. 

" will  be  very  glad  to  show  you  his  place  at  any 

time.  His  Wife  is  really  a  very  nice  Lady,  and  his  Boy 
one  of  the  nicest  I  have  seen  these  30  years.  He  himself 
sees  wonderful   things :  he  saw  2    sharks   (supposed   by 


76 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


Newson  to  be  Sweet  Williams)  making  love  together  out 
of  the  water  at  Covehithe ;  and  a  shoal  of  Porpoises 
tossing  up  a  Halibut  into  the  Air  and  catching  it  again. 
You  may  imagine  Newson's  demure  face  listening  to  all 
this,  and  his  comments  afterwards.  .  .  ." 

"Suffolk  Hotel,  Lowestoft,  Sept.  21,  '69.     [lb.] 

"Thank  you  much  for  your  Letter,  which  I  got  last 
night  when  I  went  for  my  usual  dose  of  Grog  and 
Pipe. 

"  Posh  came  up  with  his  Lugger  last  Friday,  with  a  lot 
of  torn  nets,  and  went  off  again  on  Sunday.  /  thought  he 
was  wrong  to  come  up,  and  not  to  transmit  his  nets  by 
Rail,  as  is  often  done  at  6d.  a  net.  But  I  did  not  say  so 
to  him,  —  it  is  no  unamiable  point  in  him  to  love  home: 
but  I  think  he  won't  make  a  fortune  by  it.  However,  I 
may  be  very  wrong  in  thinking  he  had  better  not  have 
come.  He  has  made  about  the  average  fishing,  I  believe  : 
about  ;^25o.  Some  boats  have  ;!^6oo,  I  hear;  and  some 
few  not  enough  to  pay  their  way. 

"  He  came  up  with  a  very  bad  cold  and  hoarseness ; 
and  so  went  off,  poor  fellow  :  he  never  will  be  long  well, 
I  do  think.  I  was  foolish  to  forget  G.  Crabbe's  homoeo- 
pathic Aconite :  but  I  sent  off  some  pills  of  it  to  Grimsby 
last  night.  ..." 


AN  AFTERMATH 


77 


"Lowestoft,  March  2/70. 
['Letters,'  p.  324.] 
"...  Posh  has,  I  believe,  gone  off  to  Southwold  in 
hope  to  bring  his  Lugger  home.  I  advised  him  last  night 
to  ascertain  first  by  Letter  whether  she  were  ready  for  his 
hands  ;  but  you  know  he  will  go  his  own  way,  and  that 
generally  is  as  good  as  anybody's.  He  now  works  all  day 
in  his  Net-loft;  and  I  wonder  how  he  keeps  as  well  as  he 
is,  shut  up  there  from  fresh  Air,  and  among  frowzy  Nets. 
But  he  is  in  good  Spirits  ;  and  that  goes  some  way  to  keep 
the  Body  well,  you  know.  I  think  he  has  mistaken  in  not 
sending  the  Meum  and  Tuum  to  the  West  this  Spring, 
not  because  the  Weather  seems  to  promise  in  all  ways  so 
much  better  than  last  (for  that  no  one  could  anticipate), 
but  on  account  of  the  high  Price  of  Fish  of  any  sort; 
which  has  been  an  evident  fact  for  the  last  six  months. 
But  I  have  not  meddled,  nor  indeed  is  it  my  Business  to 
meddle  now.  .  .  ." 


"Lowestoft,  Wednesday,  Sept.  8,  '70. 
['  Letters,'  p.  323.] 
"...  Indeed,  I  only  write  now  because  T  am  shut  up 
in  my  ship  by  rain,  and  so  write  letters. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Posh  yesterday,  telling  me  he  was 
sorry  we  had  not  'parted  Friends.'     That  he  ii:ul  been 


78 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


indeed  ^a  Utile  the  worse  for  Drink' — which  means  being 
at  a  Public-house  half  the  Day,  and  having  to  sleep  it  off 
the  remainder :  having  been  duly  warned  by  his  Father  at 
Noon  that  all  had  been  ready  for  sailing  2  hours  before, 
and  all  the  other  Luggers  gone.  As  Posh  could  walk,  I 
suppose  he  only  acknowledges  a  little  Drink  ;  but,  judging 
by  what  followed  on  that  little  Drink,  I  wish  he  had 
simply  acknowledged  his  Fault.  He  begs  me  to  write  : 
if  I  do  so,  I  must  speak  very  plainly  to  him :  that,  with 
all  his  noble  Qualities,  I  doubt  that  I  can  never  again 
have  Confidence  in  his  Promise  to  break  this  one  bad 
Habit,  seeing  that  he  has  broken  it  so  soon,  when  there 
was  no  occasion  or  excuse  :  unless  it  were  the  thought  of 
leaving  his  Wife  so  ill  at  home.  The  Man  is  so  beyond 
others,  as  I  think,  that  I  have  come  to  feel  that  I  must 
not  condemn  him  by  general  rule ;  nevertheless,  if  he  ask 
me,  I  can  refer  him  to  no  other.  I  must  send  him  back 
his  own  written  Promise  of  Sobriety,  signed  only  a  month 
before  he  broke  it  so  needlessly  :  and  I  must  even  tell  him 
that  I  know  not  yet  if  he  can  be  left  with  the  Mortgage 
as  we  settled  it  in  May.  .   .  . 

^'- P.S. —  I  enclose  Posh's  letter,  and  the  answer  I 
propose  to  give  to  it.  I  am  sure  it  makes  me  sad  and 
ashamed  to  be  setting  up  for  Judge  on  a  much  nobler 
Creature  than  myself.  But  I  must  consider  this  a  case 
in  which  the  outbreak  was  worse  than  needless,  and  such 


AN  AFTERMATH 


79 


as  must  almost  destroy  any  Confidence  I  can  feel  for  the 
future.  I  can  only  excuse  it  as  a  sort  of  Desperation  at 
his  Wife's  Illness  —  strange  way  as  he  took  of  improving 
the  occasion.  You  see  it  was  not  old  Friends  not  seen 
for  some  time,  but  one  or  two  of  the  Crew  he  is  always 
with. 

"  I  had  thought  of  returning  him  his  written  Promise  as 
worthless  :  desiring  back  my  Direction  to  my  Heirs  that 
he  should  keep  on  the  lugger  in  case  of  my  Death.  But 
I  will  wait  for  what  you  say  about  all  this.  I  am  really 
sorry  to  trouble  you  over  and  over  again  with  the  matter. 
But  I  am  so  fearful  of  blundering,  where  a  Blunder  may 
do  so  much  harm.  I  think  that  Posh  ought  to  be  made  to 
feel  this  severely :  and,  as  his  Wife  is  better,  I  do  not 
mind  making  him  feel  it,  if  I  can.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
do  not  wish  to  drive  him,  by  Despair,  into  the  very  fault 
which  I  have  so  tried  to  cure  him  of.  Pray  do  consider, 
and  write  to  me  of  this,  returning  me  the  two  Papers. 

"  His  mother  did  not  try  to  excuse  him  at  all :  his 
Father  would  not  even  see  him  go  off.  She  merely  told 
me  parenthetically,  '  I  tell  him  he  seem  to  do  it  when  the 
Governor  is  here.'  "  ' 


'  An  odd  contrast  all  this  to  the  calmness  with  which  your 
ordinary  Christian  discharges  (his  duty  and)  a  drunken  servant,  or 
shakes  off  a  disreputable  friend. 


8o 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


"Lowestoft,  Saturday^  Feb.  25,  187 1. 
['Letters,'  p.  331.] 
"...  The  two  Hens  travelled  so  comfortably,  that, 
when  let  out  of  the  basket,  they  fed,  and  then  fought 
together.  Your  Hen  was  pronounced  a  Beauty  by 
Posh  &  Co.  As  for  mine,  she  stood  up  and  crew  like  a 
Cock  three  times  right  on  end,  as  Posh  reports  :  a  com- 
mand of  Voice  in  a  Hen  reputed  so  unlucky '  that  Mr, 
and  Mrs.  Fletcher,  Senior,  who  had  known  of  sad  results 
from  such  unnatural  exhibitions,  recommended  her  being 
slain  and  stewed  down  forthwith.  Posh,  however,  resolves 
to  abide  the  upshot.  .  .  .  Posh  and  his  Father  are  very 
busy  getting  the  Meum  and  Tuum  ready  for  the  West ; 
Jemmy,  who  goes  Captain,  is  just  now  in  France  with  a 
Cargoe  of  salt  Herrings.  I  suppose  the  Lugger  will  start 
in  a  fortnight  or  so.  My  Eyes  refuse  reading  here,  so  I 
sit  looking  at  the  sea  (with  shut  eyes),  or  gossiping  with 
the  women  in  the  Net-loft.  All-fours  at  night.  Thank 
you  for  the  speckled  Hen  ;  Posh  expressed  himself  much 
obliged  for  his.  ..." 

"Lowestoft,  Sunday,  Sept.  29/72. 
['Letters,'  p.  345.] 
"...   Posh  —  after  no  fish  caught  for  3  weeks — has 


1  Compare  the  old  folk  rhyme  — 

"  A  whistling  woman  and  a  crowing  hen 
Are  hateful  alike  to  God  and  men." 


o 

<; 
Pi 
w 

O 


AN  AFTERMATH 


8i 


had  his  boat  come  home  with  nearly  all  her  fleet  of  nets 
torn  to  pieces  in  last  week's  winds.  On  Wednesday  he 
had  to  go  8  miles  on  the  other  side  of  Halesworth  after  a 
runaway  —  came  home,  drenched  from  top  to  toe,  with 
a  great  Bulrush  in  his  hand,  which  he  could  not  help 
admiring  as  he  went  along:  and  went  with  me  to  the 
Theatre  afterwards,  where  he  admired  the  '  Gays,'  as  he 
called  the  Scenes ;  but  fell  asleep  before  Shylock  had 
whetted  his  knife  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice.  ..." 

"Lowestoft,  Friday,  /a7i.  9,  1874. 
['Letters,'  p.  366.] 
"...  No  doubt  Berry  thinks  that  his  Month's  Notice, 
which  was  up  last  Mondaj',  was  enough.  Against  that  I 
have  to  say,  that,  after  giving  that  Notice,  he  told  George 
Moor  that  I  might  stay  while  I  pleased ;  and  he  drove  me 
away  for  a  week  by  having  no  one  but  his  own  blind 
Aunt  to  wait  on  me.  What  miserable  little  things!  They 
do  not  at  all  irritate,  but  only  Iwre  me.  I  have  seen  no 
more  of  Fletcher  since  I  wrote,  though  he  called  once 
when  I  was  out.  I  have  left  word  at  his  house,  that,  if 
he  wishes  to  see  me  before  I  go,  here  am  I  to  be  found  at 
tea-time.  I  only  hope  he  has  taken  no  desperate  step.  I 
hope  so  for  his  Family's  sake,  including  Father  and 
Mother.  People  here  have  asked  me  if  he  is  not  going 
to   give    up    the  Business,  &c.     Yet  there  is   Greatness 


82 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


about  the  Man :  I  believe  his  want  of  Conscience  in  some 
particulars  is  to  be  referred  to  his  Salwaging  Ethics ;  and 
your  Cromwells,  Caesars,  and  Napoleons  have  not  been 
more  scrupulous.  But  I  shall  part  Company  with  him 
if  I  can  do  so  without  Injury  to  his  Family.  If  not,  I 
must  let  him  go  on  under  some  ^Surveillance '  .•  he  must  wish 
to  get  rid  of  me  also,  and  (I  believe,  though  he  says  not) 
of  the  Boat,  if  he  could  better  himself." 

"  Lowestoft,  Sunday,  Feb.  28,  1875. 
['  Letters,'  p.  370.] 
"...  I  believe  I  wrote  you  that  Fletcher's  Babe, 
10  months  old,  died  of  Croup  —  to  be  buried  to-morrow. 
I  spoke  of  this  in  a  letter  to  Anna  Biddell,  who  has 
written  me  such  a  brave,  pious  word  in  return  that  I  keep 
to  show  you.  She  thinks  I  should  speak  to  Fletcher,  and 
hold  out  a  hand  to  him,  and  bid  him  take  this  opportunity 
to  regain  his  Self-respect;  but  I  cannot  suppose  that  I 
could  make  any  lasting  impression  upon  him.  She  does 
not  know  all.'''' 

"WOODBRIDGE,    DeC.  23/76. 

['  Letters, '  p.  396.] 

"...  I  do  not  think  there  is  anything  to  be  told  of 

Woodbridge  News  :  anyhow,  /  know  of  none  :  sometimes 

not  going  into  the  Street  for  Days  together.     I  have  a  new 

Reader  —  Son   of  Fox  the  Binder  —  who  is   intelligent, 


AN  AFTERMATH 


83 


enjoys  something  of  what  he  reads,  can  laugh  heartily, 
and  does  not  mind  being  told  not  to  read  through  his 
Nose  :  which  I  think  is  a  common  way  in  Woodbridge, 
perhaps  in  Suffolk." 

"Woodbridge,  March  31/79. 
['Letters,'  p.  435.] 
"...  A  month  ago  Ellen  Churchyard  told  me  —  what 
she  was  much  scolded  for  telling  —  that  for  some  three 
weeks  previous  Mrs.  Howe  had  been  suffering  so  from 
Rheumatism  that  she  had  been  kept  awake  in  pain,  and 
could  scarce  move  about  by  day,  though  she  did  the  house 
work  as  usual,  and  would  not  tell  me.  I  sent  for  Mr. 
Jones  at  once,  and  got  Mrs.  Cooper  in,  and  now  Mrs.  H. 
is  better,  she  says.  But  as  I  tell  her,  she  only  gives  a 
great  deal  more  of  the  trouble  she  wishes  to  save  one  by 
s'uch  obstinacy.  We  are  now  reading  the  fine  '  Legend 
of  Montrose '  till  9  ;  then,  after  ten  minutes'  refreshment, 
the  curtain  rises  on  Dickens's  Copperfield,  by  way  of 
Farce  after  the  Play ;  both  admirable.  I  have  been  busy 
in  a  small  way  preparing  a  little  vol.  of  '  Readings  in 
Crabbe's  Tales  of  the  Hall '  for  some  few  who  will  not 
encounter  the  original  Book.  I  do  not  yet  know  if  it  will 
be  published,  but  I  shall  have  done  a  little  work  I  long 
wished  to  do,  and  I  can  give  it  away   to  some  who  will 


84 


EDWARD  FITZGERALD 


like  it.     I  will  send  you  a  copy  if  you  please  when  it  is 
completed." 

"  1 1  Marine  Terrace,  Lowestoft,  Wednesday. 
"  Dear  Spalding,  —  Please  to  spend  a  Sovereign  for 
your  Children  or  among  them,  as  you  and  they  see  good, 
I  have  lost  the  Faculty  of  choosing  Presents,  you  still 
enjoy  it:  so  do  this  little  Office  for  me.  All  good  and 
kind  wishes  to  Wife  and  Family  :  a  happy  Xmas  is  still  no 
idle  word  to  you." 

"  WOODBRIDGE,/<ar«.   12,  '82. 

['Letters,'  p.  477.] 
"...  The  Aconite,  which  Mr.  Churchyard  used  to 
call  '  New  Year's  Gift,'  has  been  out  in  my  Garden  for 
this  fortnight  past.  Thrushes  (and,  I  think.  Blackbirds) 
try  to  sing  a  little  :  and  half  yesterday  I  was  sitting,  with 
no  more  apparel  than  in  my  rooms,  on  my  Quarter-deck" 
[i.e.,  the  walk  in  the  garden  of  Little  Grange]. 

''April  I,  1882. 

['Letters,'  p.  481.] 

"  Thank  you  for  your  Birthday  Greeting  —  a  Ceremony 

which,  I  nevertheless  think,  is  almost  better  forgotten  at 

my  time  of  life.     But  it  is  an  old,  and  healthy,  custom.     I 

do  not  quite  shake  off  my  Cold,  and  shall,  I  suppose,  be 


Q 
O 
O 

O 
< 

O 

w 


k4 


AN  AFTERMATH 


8S 


more  liable  to  it  hereafter.  But  what  wonderful  weather ! 
I  see  the  little  trees  opposite  my  window  perceptibly 
greener  every  morning.  Mr.  Wood  persists  in  delaying 
to  send  the  seeds  of  Annuals ;  but  I  am  going  to  send  for 
them  to-day.  My  Hyacinths  have  been  gay,  though  not 
so  fine  as  last  year's :  and  I  have  some  respectable  single 
red  Anemones  —  always  favourites  of  mine. 

"  Aldis  Wright  has  been  spending  his  Easter  here  ;  and 
goes  on  to  Beccles,  where  he  is  to  examine  and  report 
on  the  Books  and  MSS.  of  the  late  George  Borrow  at 
Oulton." 

The  handwriting  is  shaky  in  this  letter,  and  it  is  the 
last  of  the  series.  It  should  have  closed  this  article,  but 
that  I  want  still  to  quote  one  more  letter  to  my  father, 
and  a  poem  :  — 

"WooDBRiDGE,  March  i6,  1878. 
['Letters,'  pp.  410,  418.] 
"  My  dear  Groome,  —  I  have  not  had  any  Academies 
that  seemed  to  call  for  sending  severally :  here  are  some, 
however  (as  also  Athenceums),  which  shall  go  in  a  parcel 
to  you,  if  you  care  to  see  them.  Also,  Munro's  Catullus, 
which  has  much  interested  me,  bad  Scholar  as  I  am  : 
though  not  touching  on  some  of  his  best  Poems.  How- 
ever, I  never  cared   so   much   for  him  as  has  been  the 


86 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


fashion  to  do  for  the  last  half  century,  I  think.  I  had  a 
letter  from  Donne  two  days  ago  :  it  did  not  speak  of 
himself  as  other  than  well ;  but  I  thought  it  indicated 
feebleness. 

"  Eh  !  voil^  que  j'ai  dejk  dit  tout  ce  que  vient  au  bout 
de  ma  plume.  Je  ne  bouge  pas  d'ici ;  cependant,  I'annee 
va  son  train.     Toujours  k  vous  et  ^  les  votres,  E.  F.  G. 

"  By  the  by,  I  enclose  a  Paper  of  some  stepping-stones 
in  '  Dear  Charles  Lamb  '  —  drawn  up  for  my  own  use  in 
reading  his  Letters,  and  printed,  you  see,  for  my  Friends  — 
one  of  my  best  Works ;  though  not  exact  about  Book 
Dates,  which  indeed  one  does  not  care  for. 

"  The  Paper  is  meant  to  paste  in  as  Flyleaf  before  any 
volume  of  the  Letters,  as  now  printed.  But  it  is  not  a 
'  Venerable '  Book,  I  doubt.  Daddy  Wordsworth  said, 
indeed,  '  Charles  Lamb  is  a  good  man  if  ever  good  man 
was '  —  as  I  had  wished  to  quote  at  the  End  of  my  Paper, 
but  could  not  find  the  printed  passage." 

The  poem  turned  up  in  a  MS.  book  of  my  father's, 
while  this  article  was  writing.  It  is  a  version  of  the 
"Lucius  ^milius  Paullus,"  already  published  by  Mr. 
Aldis Wright,  in  Vol.  ii,  p.  483  of  the  'Remains,'  but  the 
two  differ  so  widely  that  lovers  of  FitzGerald  will  be  glad 
to  have  it.     Here,  then,  it  is  :  — 


AN  AFTERMATH 


87 


A  PARAPHRASE  BY  EDWARD  FITZGERALD 

OF    THE   SPEECH    OF    PAULLUS    /EMILIUS    IN    LIVY, 

lib.  xlv.  C.  41. 

"  How  prosperously  I  have  served  the  State, 
And  how  in  the  Midsummer  of  Success 
A  double  Thunderbolt  from  heav'n  has  struck 
On  mine  own  roof,  Rome  needs  not  to  be  told, 
Who  has  so  lately  witness'd  through  her  Streets, 
Together,  moving  with  unequal  March, 
My  Triumph  and  the  Funeral  of  my  Sons. 
Yet  bear  with  me  if  in  a  few  brief  words. 
And  no  invidious  Spirit,  I  compare 
With  the  full  measure  of  the  general  Joy 
My  private  Destitution.     When  the  Fleet 
Was  all  equipp'd,  'twas  at  the  break  of  day 
That  I  weigh 'd  anchor  from  Brundusium; 
Before  the  day  went  down,  with  all  my  Ships 
I  made  Corcyra ;  thence,  upon  the  fifth, 
To  Delphi ;  where  to  the  presiding  God 
A  lustratory  Sacrifice  I  made, 
As  for  myself,  so  for  the  Fleet  and  Army. 
Thence  in  five  days  I  reach'd  the  Roman  camp ; 
Took  the  command ;  re-organis'd  the  War  ; 
And,  for  King  Perseus  would  not  forth  to  fight. 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


And  for  his  camp's  strength  could  not  forth  be  forced, 

I  slipped  between  his  Outposts  by  the  woods 

At  Petra,  thence  I  foUow'd  him,  when  he 

Fight  me  must  needs,  I  fought  and  routed  him. 

Into  the  all-constraining  Arms  of  Rome 

Reduced  all  Macedonia, 

And  this  grave  War  that,  growing  year  by  year. 

Four  Consuls  each  to  each  made  over  worse 

Than  from  his  predecessor  he  took  up, 

In  fifteen  days  victoriously  I  closed. 

With  that  the  Flood  of  Fortune,  setting  in 

RoU'd  wave  on  wave  upon  us.     Macedon 

Once  fall'n,  her  States  and  Cities  all  gave  in, 

The  royal  Treasure  dropt  into  my  Hands ; 

And  then  the  King  himself,  he  and  his  Sons, 

As  by  the  finger  of  the  Gods  betray'd, 

Trapp'd  in  the  Temple  they  took  refuge  in. 

And  now  began  my  over-swelling  Fortune 

To  look  suspicious  in  mine  eyes.     I  fear'd 

The  dangerous  Seas  that  were  to  carry  back  /' 

The  fruit  of  such  a  Conquest  and  the  Host  } 

Whose  arms  had  reap'd  it  all.     My  fear  was  vain  :  \ 

The  Seas  were  laid,  the  Wind  was  fair,  we  touch'd    '       \  \ 

Our  own  Italian  Earth  once  more.     And  then  \         </ 

\    y 

When  nothing  seem'd  to  pray  for,  yet  I  pray'd ;  ""--'f 

That  because  Fortune,  having  reach'd  her  height,  / 


AN  AFTERMATH 


Forthwith  begins  as  fatal  a  decline, 
Her  fall  might  but  involve  myself  alone, 
And  glance  beside  my  Country.     Be  it  so  ! 
By  my  sole  ruin  may  the  jealous  Gods 
Absolve  the  Common -weal  —  by  mine  —  by  me, 
Of  whose  triumphal  Pomp  the  front  and  rear  — 

0  scorn  of  human  Glory  —  was  begun 

And  closed  with  the  dead  bodies  of  my  Sons. 

Yes,  I  the  Conqueror,  and  conquer'd  Perseus, 

Before  you  two  notorious  Monuments 

Stand  here  of  human  Instability. 

He  that  was  late  so  absolute  a  King 

Now,  captive  led  before  my  Chariot,  sees 

His  sons  led  with  him  captive  —  but  alive  ; 

While  I,  the  Conqueror,  scarce  had  turn'd  my  face 

From  one  lost  son's  still  smoking  Funeral, 

And  from  my  Triumph  to  the  Capitol 

Return  —  return  in  time  to  catch  the  last 

Sigh  of  the  last  that  I  might  call  my  Son, 

Last  of  so  many  Children  that  should  bear 

My  name  to  Aftertime.     For  blind  to  Fate, 

And  over-affluent  of  Posterity, 

The  two  surviving  Scions  of  my  Blood 

1  had  engrafted  in  an  alien  Stock, 

And  now,  beside  himself,  no  one  survives 
Of  the  old  House  of  PauUus." 


90 


EDWARD   FITZGERALD 


Myself,  on  the  whole,  I  greatly  prefer  this  version  to 
Mr,  Aldis  Wright's  :  still,  which  is  the  later,  which  the 
earlier,  it  were  hard  to  determine  on  internal  grounds. 
For,  as  has  befallen  many  a  greater  poet,  FitzGerald's 
alterations  were  by  no  means  always  improvements.  One 
sees  this  in  the  various  editions  of  his  masterpiece,  the 
'  Rubaiyat.'  However,  by  a  comparison  of  the  date 
(1856)  on  the  fly-leaf  of  my  father's  notebook  with  that  of 
a  published  letter  of  FitzGerald's  to  Professor  Cowell 
(May  28,  1868),  I  am  led  to  conclude  that  my  father's 
copy  is  an  early  draft. 


iHisevere* 


^^^^^^m 


J.  A 


cres. 
P 


"  Lord,  have  utercy." 

Lord,  who  wast  content  to  die. 
That  poor  sinners  may  draw  nigli 
To  the  throne  of  grace  on  high. 
Miserere,  Domine. 


2.  Who  dost  hear  my  every  groan, 
Intercedest  at  the  throne, 

crcs.     Making  my  poor  prayers  Thine  own, 
/  Miserere,  Domine. 

3.  Wlien  some  sorrow,  pressing  sore, 
Tells  me,  that  life  nevermore 

cres.     Can  be,  as  it  was  of  yore, 

/  Miserere,  Domine. 


4.     Let  me  hear  the  Voice,  that  said, 
"  It  is  I,  be  not  afraid"  ; 
crcs.     So  the  sorrow  shall  be  stay'd, 
p  Miserere,  Domine. 


5.  When  the  hour  of  death  is  nigh, 
And  the  watchers,  standing  by, 

cres.     Raise  the  supplicating  cry, 
/  Miserere,  Domine. 

6.  Take  me  to  Thy  promised  rest. 
Number  me  among  the  blest, 

/     Poor,  and  yet  a  welcomed  guest. 
f  Alleluia,  Domine. 


MISCELLANIES 

IN    VERSE    AND    PROSE 


I 


FITZGERALD'S    MINOR    POEMS 
I 

"THE  MEADOWS  IN  SPRING" 


T  was  at  Naseby,  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year 
( 1 831 ),  that  he  made  his  earliest  attempt  in  verse,  the 
earliest  at  any  rate  which  has  yet  been  discovered. 
Charles  Lamb,  writing  to  Moxon  in  Augnst,  tells 
him,  '  The  Athenaeum  has  been  hoaxed  with  some 
excjuisitc  ijoetry,  that  was,  two  or  three  months  ago,  in  Hone's 
Book.  .  .  The  poem  I  mean  is  in  Hone's  Book  as  far  back  as 
April.  I  do  not  know  who  wrote  it ;  but  'tis  a  poem  I  envy — that 
and  Montgomery's  "  Last  Man  " :  I  envy  the  writers,  because  I  feel 
I  could  have  done  something  like  them.'  It  first  appeared  in  Hone's 
Year  Book  for  April  30,  1831,  with  the  title  'The  Meadows  in 
Spring'  and  the  following  letter  to  the  Editor.  'These  verses  are 
in  the  old  style ;  rather  homely  in  expression ;  but  I  honestly 
profess  to  stick  more  to  the  simplicity  of  the  old  poets  than  the 
moderns,  and  to  love  the  philosophical  good  humour  of  our  old 
writers  more  than  the  sickly  melancholy  of  the  Byronian  wits.  If 
my  verses  be  not  good,  they  are  good  humoured,  and  that  is  some- 
thing.' With  a  few  verbal  changes  they  were  sent  to  the  Athenreum, 
and  appeared  in  that  paper  on  July  9,  1831,  accompanied  by  a  note 


96 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


of  the  Editor's,  from  which  it  is  evident  that  he  supposed  them  to 
have  been  written  by  Lamb. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Athenceum. 
Sir, 

These  verses  are  something  in  the  old  style,  but  not  the  worse 
for  that :  not  that  I  mean  to  call  them  good :  but  I  am  sure  they 
would  not  have  been  better,  if  dressed  up  in  the  newest  Montgomery 
fashion,  for  which  I  cannot  say  I  have  much  love.  If  they  are  fitted 
for  your  paper,  you  are  welcome  to  them.  I  send  them  to  you, 
because  I  find  only  in  your  paper  a  love  of  our  old  literature,  which 
is  almost  monstrous  in  the  eyes  of  modem  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
My  verses  are  certainly  not  in  the  present  fashion ;  but,  I  must  own, 
though  there  may  not  be  the  same  merit  in  the  thoughts,  I  think  the 
style  much  better:  and  this  with  no  credit  to  myself,  but  to  the 
merry  old  writers  of  more  manly  times. 

Your  humble  servant, 
Epsilon. 

'Tis  a  dull  sight 

To  see  the  year  dying, 
When  winter  winds 

Set  the  yellow  wood  sighing : 
Sighing,  oh !  sighing. 

When  such  a  time  cometh, 

I  do  retire 
Into  an  old  room 

Beside  a  bright  fire  : 
Oh,  pile  a  bright  fire ! 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR   POEMS 


97 


And  there  I  sit 

Reading  old  things, 
Of  knights  and  lorn  damsels, 

While  the  wind  sings  — 
Oh,  drearily  sings ! 

I  never  look  out 

Nor  attend  to  the  blast ; 
For  all  to  be  seen 

Is  the  leaves  falling  fast : 
Falling,  falling  ! 

But  close  at  the  hearth. 

Like  a  cricket,  sit  I, 
Reading  of  summer 

And  chivalry  — 
Gallant  chivalry ! 

Then  with  an  old  friend 
I  talk  of  our  youth  — 

How  'twas  gladsome,  but  often 
Foolish,  forsooth : 

But  gladsome,  gladsome  ! 

Or  to  get  merry 

We  sing  some  old  rhyme, 
Tliat  made  the  wood  ring  again 


98 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


In  summer  time  — 
Sweet  summer  time ! 

Then  go  we  to  smoking, 

Silent  and  snug : 
Nought  passes  between  us, 

Save  a  brown  jug  — 
Sometimes ! 

And  sometimes  a  tear 
Will  rise  in  each  eye. 

Seeing  the  two  old  friends 
So  merrily  — 
So  merrily ! 

And  ere  to  bed 

Go  we,  go  we, 
Down  on  the  ashes 

We  kneel  on  the  knee. 
Praying  together ! 


Thus,  then,  live  I, 

Till,  'mid  all  the  gloom. 
By  heaven  !  the  bold  sun 

Is  with  me  in  the  room, 
Shining,  shining ! 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR   POEMS 


99 


Then  the  clouds  part, 

Swallows  soaring  between ; 
The  spring  is  alive, 

And  the  meadows  are  green  ! 

I  jump  up,  like  mad. 

Break  the  old  pipe  in  twain, 
And  away  to  the  meadows, 

The  meadows  again ! 

I  had  very  little  hesitation,  from  internal  evidence  alone,  in 
identifying  these  verses  with  those  which  FitzGerald  had  written, 
as  he  said,  when  a  lad,  or  little  more  than  a  lad,  and  sent  to  the 
Athenaaum,  but  all  question  has  been  set  at  rest  by  the  discovery  of 
a  copy  in  a  common -place  book  belonging  to  the  late  Archdeacon 
Allen,  with  the  heading  '  E.  F.  G.',  and  the  date  'Naseby,  Spring, 
1 831.'  This  copy  differs  slightly  from  those  in  the  Year  Book  and 
in  the  Athenaeum,  and  in  place  of  the  tenth  stanza  it  has, 

So  winter  passeth 

Like  a  long  sleep 
From  falling  autumn 

To  primrose-peep." 

—  Letters  and  Literary  Remaifis  (1889),  Vol.  I,  pp.  4-8. 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR   POEMS 


II 


OCCASIONAL  VERSES' 

Through  the  kindness  of  the  late  Mr.  Thomas  Allen  I  was  enabled 
to  recover  the  missing  stanzas  about  Clora  referred  to  in  the  Letters 
of  Edward  FitzGerald,  i.  19,  and  with  them  some  other  verses  by 
the  same  pen,  hitherto  unknown  to  me.  Of  these  I  printed  privately 
twenty -five  copies  in  Februaiy  1891.  —  See  Miscellanies  by  Edward 
FitzGerald,  edited  by  William  Aldis  Wright,  (1900). 

TO    A    LADY    SINGING 


Canst  thou,  my  Clora,  declare, 

After  thy  sweet  song  dieth 
Into  the  wild  summer  air, 
Whither  it  falleth  or  flieth  ? 
Soon  would  my  answer  be  noted, 
Wert  thou  but  sage  as  sweet  throated. 

II 

Melody,  dying  away, 

Into  the  dark  sky  closes, 

Like  the  good  soul  from  her  clay 
Like  the  fair  odour  of  roses  : 


FITZGERALD'S    MINOR   POEMS 


Therefore  thou  now  art  behind  it, 

But  thou  shalt  follow,  and  find  it. 

Ill 

Nothing  can  utterly  die ; 

Music,  aloft  upspringing, 
Turns  to  pure  atoms  of  sky 

Each  golden  note  of  thy  singing 
And  that  to  which  morning  did  listen 
At  eve  in  a  Rainbow  may  glisten. 

IV 

Beauty,  when  laid  in  the  grave, 

Feedeth  the  lily  beside  her. 
Therefore  the  soul  cannot  have 
Station  or  honour  denied  her ; 
She  will  not  better  her  essence. 
But  wear  a  crown  in  God's  presence. 

[ON    ANNE    ALLEN  I] 


Thp:  wind  blew  keenly  from  the  Western  sea, 
And  drove  the  dead  leaves  slanting  from  the  tree  — 
Vanity  of  vanities,  the  Preacher  saith  — 


•  vSee  Letters,  i.  72.     She  died  in  the  autumn  of  1S33,  ^'''^  y^ar 
after  FitzGerald  had  seen  her  at  Tenby. 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR   POEMS 


Heaping  them  up  before  her  Father's  door 
When  I  saw  her  whom  I  shall  see  no  more  — 
We  cannot  bribe  thee,  Death. 

II 

She  went  abroad  the  falling  leaves  among, 
She  saw  the  merry  season  fade,  and  sung 

Vanity  of  vanities,  the  Preacher  saith  — 
Freely  she  wandered  in  the  leafless  wood. 
And  said  that  all  was  fresh,  and  fair,  and  good, 

She  knew  thee  not,  O  Death. 

Ill 

She  bound  her  shining  hair  across  her  brow, 
She  went  into  the  garden  fading  now ; 

Vanity  of  vanities,  the  Preacher  saith  — 
And  if  one  sighed  to  think  that  it  was  sere, 
She  smiled  to  think  that  it  would  bloom  next  year 

She  feared  thee  not,  O  Death. 


IV 

Blooming  she  came  back  to  the  cheerful  room 
With  all  the  fairer  flowers  yet  in  bloom, 

Vanity  of  vanities,  the  Preacher  saith  — 
A  fragrant  knot  for  each  of  us  she  tied. 
And  placed  the  fairest  at  her  Father's  side  — 

She  cannot  charm  thee,  Death. 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


103 


Her  pleasant  smile  spread  sunshine  upon  all ; 
We  heard  her  sweet  clear  laughter  in  the  Hall ; 

Vanity  of  vanities,  the  Preacher  saith  — 
We  heard  her  sometimes  after  evening  prayer, 
As  she  went  singing  softly  up  the  stair  — 

No  voice  can  charm  thee.  Death. 

VI 

Where  is  the  pleasant  smile,  the  laughter  kind. 
That  made  sweet  music  of  the  winter  wind  ? 

Vanity  of  vanities,  the  Preacher  saith  — 
Idly  they  gaze  upon  her  empty  place, 
Her  kiss  hath  faded  from  her  Father's  face  ;  — 

She  is  with  thee,  O  Death. 


[TO    A    VIOLET] 


Fair  violet !  sweet  saint ! 

Answer  us  —  Whither  art  thou  gone  ? 
Ever  thou  wert  so  still,  and  faint, 

And  fearing  to  be  look'd  upon. 
We  cannot  say  that  one  hath  died. 
Who  wont  to  live  so  unespied, 


I04 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR  POEMS 


But  crept  away  unto  a  stiller  spot, 

Where  men  may  stir  the  grass,  and  find  thee  not. 


J  "In  Febniary,  1891,  Mr.  Aldis  Wright  printed  privately  twenty - 
five  copies  of  some  verses  by  FitzGerald  in  a  leaflet  of  four  pages, 
uniform  in  size  writh  '  The  Letters  and  Literary  Remains.'  The 
verses,  with  a  short  introductory  paragraph,  were  as  follows  :  '  To  a 
Lady  Singing,'  '  On  Anne  Allen,'  and  '  To  a  Violet.'  The  last 
two  pieces  had  never  been  printed  before,  but  the  last  two  stanzas 
of  the  first  piece,  which  were  enclosed  in  a  letter  to  John  Allen, 
written  in  December,  1837,  were  printed  in  'Letters  and  Literary 
Remains,'  1.  16,  and  afterwards  in  'Letters,'  i.  19,  to  which  were 
added  in  a  note  the  first  two  stanzas,  which  Mr.  Aldis  Wright  had 
been  enabled  to  recover  through  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Thomas  Allen. 
The  'Occasional  Verses'  were  published  in  'Miscellanies,'  1900, 
pp.  203-207."  —  {Notes  for  a  Bibliography  of  Edward  FitzGerald. 
By  Colonel  W.  F.  Prideaux.     London,  1901.     Pp.  52,  53.) 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


105 


III 

r.REDFTET.D  HALL 

Lo,  an  English  mansion  founded 
In  the  elder  James's  reign, 

Quaint  and  stately,  and  surrounded 
With  a  pastoral  domain. 

With  well-timber'd  lawn  and  gardens 
And  with  many  a  pleasant  mead, 

Skirted  by  the  lofty  coverts 

Where  the  hare  and  pheasant  feed. 


Flank'd  it  is  with  goodly  stables, 
Shelter'd  by  coeval  trees  : 

So  it  lifts  its  honest  gables 

Toward  the  distant  German  seas  ; 

Where  it  once  discerned  the  smoke 
Of  old  sea-battles  far  away  : 

Saw  victorious  Nelson's  topmasts 
Anchoring  in  Hollesley  Bay. 

But  whatever  storm  might  riot, 
Cannon  roar,  and  trumpet  ring, 


io6 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR   POEMS 


Still  amid  these  meadows  quiet 
Did  the  yearly  violet  spring: 

Still  Heaven's  starry  hand  suspended 
That  light  balance  of  the  dew, 

That  each  night  on  earth  descended, 
And  each  morning  rose  anew  : 

And  the  ancient  house  stood  rearing 
Undisturb'd  her  chimneys  high. 

And  her  gilded  vanes  still  veering 
Toward  each  quarter  of  the  sky  : 

While  like  wave  to  wave  succeeding 
Through  the  world  of  joy  and  strife, 

Household  after  household  speeding 
Handed  on  the  torch  of  life : 


First,  sir  Knight  in  ruff  and  doublet, 
Arm  in  arm  with  stately  dame ; 

Then  the  Cavaliers  indignant 

For  their  monarch  brought  to  shame 

Languid  beauties  limn'd  by  Lely; 

Full-wigg'd  Justice  of  Queen  Anne  : 
Tory  squires  who  tippled  freely  ; 

And  the  modern  Gentleman  : 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR  POEMS 


107 


Here  they  lived,  and  here  they  greeted, 
Maids  and  matrons,  sons  and  sires. 

Wandering  in  its  walks,  or  seated 
Round  its  hospitable  fires  : 

Oft  their  silken  dresses  floated 

Gleaming  through  the  pleasure  ground  : 
Oft  dash'd  by  the  scarlet-coated 

Hunter,  horse,  and  dappled  hound. 

Till  the  Bell  that  not  in  vain 

Had  summon'd  them  to  weekly  prayer, 
Call'd  them  one  by  one  again 

To  the  church  —  and  left  them  there  ! 

They  with  all  their  loves  and  passions, 
Compliment,  and  song,  and  jest. 

Politics,  and  sports,  and  fashions, 
Merged  in  everlasting  rest ! 

So  they  pass  —  while  thou,  old  Mansion, 

Markest  with  unalter'd  face 
How  like  the  foliage  of  thy  summers 

Race  of  man  succeeds  to  race. 


To  most  thou  stand'st  a  record  sad, 
But  all  the  sunshine  of  the  year 


io8 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


Could  not  make  thine  aspect  glad 
To  one  whose  youth  is  buried  here. 

In  thine  ancient  rooms  and  gardens 
Buried  —  and  his  own  no  more 

Than  the  youth  of  those  old  owners, 
Dead  two  centuries  before. 

Unto  him  the  fields  around  thee 
Darken  with  the  days  gone  by  : 

O'er  the  solemn  woods  that  bound  thee 
Ancient  sunsets  seem  to  die. 


Sighs  the  selfsame  breeze  of  morning 
Through  the  cypress  as  of  old ; 

Ever  at  the  Spring's  returning 

One  same  crocus  breaks  the  mould. 

Still  though  'scaping  Time's  more  savage 
Handywork  this  pile  appears, 

It  has  not  escaped  the  ravage 
Of  the  undermining  years. 

And  though  each  succeeding  master, 
Grumbling  at  the  cost  to  pay, 

Did  with  coat  of  paint  and  plaster 
Hide  the  wrinkles  of  decay ; 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR   POEMS 


109 


Yet  the  secret  worm  ne'er  ceases, 
Nor  the  mouse  behind  the  wall ; 

Heart  of  oak  will  come  to  pieces, 
And  farewell  to  Bredfield  Hall ! 

"These  verses  on  his  old  home  were  written  originally  by  Fitz- 
Gerald  as  early  as  1839,  and  communicated  to  Bernard  Barton. 
They  were  circulated  in  slightly  differing  forms  among  his  friends, 
and  probably  never  received  the  final  touches  of  his  hand,  but  they 
contain  what.  Professor  Cowell  informs  me,  were  in  his  own  judg- 
ment the  best  lines  he  had  ever  written,  as  shewing  real  imagination, 
and  it  seems  better  to  print  them  though  imperfect.  In  reply  to  an 
old  friend,  who  had  heard  some  of  the  lines  quoted  and  supposed 
them  to  be  from  Tennyson,  he  wrote :  '  I  was  astonisht  to  find  I 
had  three  sheets  to  fold  up;  and  now  one  half  "cheer"  more,  only 
to  prevent  you  wasting  any  more  trouble  in  looking  through  Tenny- 
son for  those  verses  —  I  myself  having  been  puzzled  at  first  to  what 
you  alluded  by  that  single  line.  No  :  /  wrote  them  along  with  many 
others  about  my  old  home  more  than  forty  years  ago,  and  they  recur 
to  me  also  as  I  wander  about  the  Garden  or  the  Lawn.  Therefore 
I  suppose  there  is  some  native  force  about  them,  though  your 
referring  them  to  A.  T.  proves  that  I  was  echoing  him.' "  —  Letters 
and  Literary  Remains  (1889),  Vol.  III.,  pp.  458-461. 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR   POEMS 


IV 


CHRONOMOROS ' 

In  all  the  actions  that  a  Man  performs,  some  part  of  his  life 
passeth.  We  die  with  doing  that,  for  which  only  our  sliding  life  was 
granted.  Nay,  though  we  do  nothing,  Time  keeps  his  constant 
pace,  and  flies  as  fast  in  idlenesse,  as  in  employment.  Whether  we 
play  or  labour,  or  sleep,  or  dance,  or  study,  THE  SUNNE  POST- 
ETH,  AND  THE  SAND  RUNNES. 

OWEN    FELLTHAM. 

Wearied  with  hearing  folks  cry, 
That  Time  would  incessantly  fly, 
Said  I  to  myself,  "I  don't  see 
Why  Time  should  not  wait  upon  me  ; 


>  "  Fulcher's  Poetical  Miscellany.  Published  by  G.  W. 
Fulcher,  Sudbury,  and  Suttaby  &  Co.,  London  [1841].  —  'Chrono- 
moros,'  signed  '  Anon.,'  p.  236. 

"This  little  book,  of  which  a  copy  of  the  second  edition,  issued  in 
May,  1 841,  will  be  found  in  the  British  Museum,  is  made  up,  with  a 
few  exceptions,  according  to  the  preface,  of  selections  from  the 
seventeen  volumes  of  Fulcher's  '  Sudbury  Pocket  Book,'  of  which  no 
example  appears  to  exist  in  the  national  collection.  I  am  therefore 
unable  to  say  whether  the  poem  of  '  Chronomoros,'  which  has  been 
reprinted  by  Mr.  Aldis  Wright  in  the  '  Letters  and  Literary  Remains 
of  Edward  FitzGerald,'  iii.  461,  appeared  originally  in  the  'Pocket 
Book '  or  the  '  Miscellany.'  " 

W.    F.    PRIDEAUX. 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


I  will  not  be  carried  away, 

Whether  I  like  it,  or  nay  :  "  — 
But  ere  I  go  on  with  my  strain, 
Pray  turn  me  that  hour-glass  again  ! 

I  said,  "  I  will  read,  and  will  write, 
And  labour  all  day,  and  all  night, 
And  Time  will  so  heavily  load, 
That  he  cannot  but  wait  on  the  road  ;  "  — 
But  I  found,  that,  balloon-like  in  size. 
The  more  fiU'd,  the  faster  he  flies ; 
And  I  could  not  the  trial  maintain. 
Without  turning  the  hour-glass  again  ! 

Then  said  I,  "  If  Time  has  so  flown 

When  laden,  I'll  leave  him  alone; 

And  I  think  that  he  cannot  but  stay, 

When  he's  nothing  to  carry  away  !  " 

So  I  sat,  folding  my  hands, 

Watching  the  mystical  sands. 
As  they  fell,  grain  after  grain, 
Till  I  turn'd  up  the  hour-glass  again  ! 

Then  I  cried,  in  a  rage,  "Time  i-Z/c/// stand  1  " 
The  hour-glass  I  smash'd  with  my  hand. 
My  watch  into  atoms  I  broke 
And  the  sun-dial  hid  with  a  cloak! 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR  POEMS 


"  Now,"  I  shouted  aloud,  "  Time  is  done  ! " 
When  suddenly,  down  went  the  Sun ; 
And  I  found  to  my  cost  and  my  pain, 
I  might  buy  a  new  hour-glass  again  ! 

Whether  we  wake,  or  we  sleep, 

Whether  we  carol,  or  weep, 

The  Sun,  with  his  Planets  in  chime, 

Marketh  the  going  of  Time  ; 

But  Time,  in  a  still  better  trim, 

Marketh  the  going  of  him  : 
One  link  in  an  infinite  chain, 
Is  this  turning  the  hour-glass  again  ! 

The  robes  of  the  Day  and  the  Night, 
Are  not  wove  of  mere  darkness  and  light ; 
We  read  that,  at  Joshua's  will. 
The  Sun  for  a  Time  once  stood  still ! 
So  that  Time  by  his  measure  to  try, 
Is  Petitio  Principii ! 

Time's  Scythe  is  going  amain, 

Though  he  turn  not  his  hour-glass  again  ! 

And  yet,  after  all,  what  is  Time  ? 
Renowned  in  Reason,  and  Rhyme, 
A  Phantom,  a  Name,  a  Notion, 
That  measures  Duration  or  Motion  ? 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


"3 


Or  but  an  apt  term  in  the  lease 
Of  Beings,  whio  know  they  must  cease  ? 
The  hand  utters  more  than  the  brain, 
When  turning  the  hour-glass  again  ! 

The  King  in  a  carriage  may  ride, 
And  the  Beggar  may  crawl  at  his  side  ; 
But,  in  the  general  race, 
They  are  travelling  all  the  same  pace, 
And  houses,  and  trees,  and  high-way. 
Are  in  the  same  gallop  as  they  : 
We  mark  our  steps  in  the  train. 
When  turning  the  hour-glass  again  ! 

People  complain,  with  a  sigh. 

How  terribly  Chroniclers  lie  ; 

But  there  is  one  pretty  right, 

Heard  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 

Calling  aloud  to  the  people. 

Out  of  St  Dunstan's  Steeple, 
Telling  them  under  the  vane, 
To  turn  their  hour-glasses  again  ! 

MORAL 


Masters  !  we  live  here  for  ever. 
Like  so  many  iish  in  a  river; 


114 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


We  may  mope,  tumble,  or  glide, 

And  eat  one  another  beside  ; 

But,  whithersoever  we  go, 

The  River  will  flow,  flow,  flow ! 

And  now,  that  I've  ended  my  strain. 
Pray  turn  me  that  hour-glass  again  ! 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR  POEMS 


"5 


VIRGIL'S  GARDEN' 

Laid  out  a  la  Delille 

"  There  is  more  pleasantness  in  the  little  platform  of  a  Garden 
which  he  gives  us  about  the  middle  of  this  Book"  ('  Georgick '  IV 
1 1 5-148)  "  than  in  all  the  spacious  Walks  and  Waterfalls  of  Monsieur. 
Kapin."  —  Dryden  ;  two  of  whose  lines  are  here  marked  by  inverted 
commas. 

But  that,  my  destined  voyage  almost  done, 

I  think  to  slacken  sail  and  shoreward  run, 

I  would  enlarge  on  that  peculiar  care 

Which  makes  the  Garden  bloom,  the  Orchard  bear, 

Pampers  the  Melon  into  girth,  and  blows 

Twice  to  one  summer  the  Calabrian  Rose  : 

Nor  many  a  shrub  with  flower  and  berries  hung. 

Nor  Myrtle  of  the  seashore^  leave  unsung. 


1  In  a  letter  to  Professor  C.  E.  Norton,  dated  9  June,  1882, 
FitzGerald  wrote :  "  I  will  enclose  some  pretty  Verses,  some  twenty 
years  old,  which  I  sent  to  Temple  Bar,  which  repaid  me  (as  I  deserved) 
with  a  dozen  copies"  ("Letters,"  ii,  p.  330).  They  were  printed 
in  this  magazine  for  April,  1882.  H&e  Letters  and  Literary  Kcmains, 
iii,  p.  464-466. 

2  Mitford  says  that  it  abounds  on  the  coast  of  Calabria. 


ii6 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


"  For  where  the  Tower  of  old  Tarentum  stands, 
And  dark  Galesus  soaks  the  yellow  sands," 
I  mind  me  of  an  old  Corycian  swain. 
Who  from  a  plot  of  disregarded  plain, 
That  neither  Corn,  nor  Vine,  nor  Olive  grew. 
Yet  such  a  store  of  garden-produce  drew 
That  made  him  rich  in  heart  as  Kings  with  all 
Their  wealth,  when  he  returned  at  even-fall, 
And  from  the  conquest  of  the  barren  ground 
His  table  with  unpurchased  plenty  crown'd. 
For  him  the  Rose  first  open'd ;  his,  somehow. 
The  first  ripe  Apple  redden'd  on  the  bough ; 
Nay,  even  when  melancholy  Winter  still 
Congeal'd  the  glebe,  and  check'd  the  wandering  rill, 
The  sturdy  veteran  might  abroad  be  seen. 
With  some  first  slip  of  unexpected  green. 
Upbraiding  Nature  with  her  tardy  Spring, 
And  those  south  winds  so  late  upon  the  wing. 
He  sow'd  the  seed ;  and,  under  Sun  and  Shower, 
Up  came  the  Leaf,  and  after  it  the  Flower, 
From  which  no  busier  bees  than  his  derived 
More,  or  more  honey  for  their  Master  hived  : 
Under  his  skilful  hand  no  savage  root 
But  sure  to  thrive  with  its  adopted  shoot ; 
No  sapling  but,  transplanted,  sure  to  grow, 
Sizable  standards  set  in  even  row ; 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 

Some  for  their  annual  crop  of  fruit,  and  some 
For  longer  service  in  the  years  to  come ; 
While  his  young  Plane  already  welcome  made 
The  guest  who  came  to  drink  beneath  the  shade. 


But,  by  the  stern  conditions  of  my  song 
Compell'd  to  leave  where  I  would  linger  long, 
To  other  bards  the  Garden  I  resign 
Who  with  more  leisure  step  shall  follow  mine. 


ii8 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR   POEMS 


VI 


TRANSLATION  FROM  PETRARCH' 

(Se  la  mia  vita  dalP  aspro  tormento) 

If  it  be  destined  that  my  Life,  from  thine 

Divided,  yet  with  thine  shall  linger  on 
Till,  in  the  later  twilight  of  Decline, 

I  may  behold  those  Eyes,  their  lustre  gone  ; 
When  the  gold  tresses  that  enrich  thy  brow 

Shall  all  be  faded  into  silver-gray, 
From  which  the  wreaths  that  well  bedeck  them  now 

For  many  a  Summer  shall  have  fall'n  away : 
Then  should  I  dare  to  whisper  in  your  ears 

The  pent-up  Passion  of  so  long  ago, 
That  Love  which  hath  survived  the  wreck  of  years 

Hath  little  else  to  pray  for,  or  bestow, 
Thou  wilt  not  to  the  broken  heart  deny 
The  boon  of  one  too-late  relenting  Sigh. 


I  Printed  for  the  first  time  from  MSS.  left  by  FitzGerald  to  W. 
Aldis  Wright  in  Letters  and  Literary  Remains  (1889),  iii,  p.  466. 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR   PO-EMS 


119 


VII 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  BERNARD  BARTON' 


Lav  him  gently  in  the  ground, 

The  good,  the  genial,  and  the  wise  ; 
While  Spring  blows  forward  in  the  skies 

To  breathe  new  verdure  o'er  the  mound 
Where  the  kindly  Poet  lies. 

Gently  lay  him  in  his  jDlace, 

While  the  still  Brethren  round  him  stand  ; 
The  soul  indeed  is  far  away, 
But  we  would  reverence  the  clay 
In  which  so  long  she  made  a  stay, 
Beaming  through  the  friendly  face. 

And  holding  forth  the  honest  hand  — 

Thou,  that  didst  so  often  twine 
For  other  urns  the  funeral  song, 


»  These  lines  at  the  end  of  a  brief  note  on  the  "  Funeral  of 
Bernard  Barton  "  were  first  printed  in  The  Ipswich  Journal,  March  3, 
1849.     ^^^  Miscellanies  (1900),  pp.  157,  58. 


FITZGERALD'S   MINOR  POEMS 


One  who  has  known  and  lov'd  thee  long, 
Would,  ere  he  mingles  with  the  throng, 
Just  hang  this  little  wreath  on  thine. 


Farewell,  thou  spirit  kind  and  true  ; 
Old  Friend,  for  evermore  Adieu  ! 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


viri 


THE   TWO    GENERALS' 


LUCIUS    ^MILIUS    PAULLUS 

His  Speech  to  the  Roman  People  after  his  Triumph  over  Perseus,  King 
of  Macedonia,  U.  C.  585.  Livy  xlv.  41.  (And  unfaithfil  to  the 
few  and  simple  words  recorded  in  the  Original) 

With  what  success,  Quirites,  I  have  served 
The  Commonwealth,  and,  in  the  very  hour 
Of  Glory,  what  a  double  Thunderbolt 
From  Heav'n  has  struck  upon  my  private  roof, 
Rome  needs  not  to  be  told,  who  lately  saw 
So  close  together  treading  through  her  streets 
My  Triumph,  and  the  Funeral  of  my  Sons. 
Yet  bear  with  me  while,  in  a  few  brief  words, 
And  uninvidious  spirit,  I  compare 
Beside  the  fulness  of  the  general  Joy 
My  single  Destitution. 

When  the  time 
For  leaving  Italy  was  come,  the  Ships 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


With  all  their  Armament,  and  men  complete, 

As  the  Sun  rose  I  left  Brundusium : 

With  all  my  Ships  before  that  Sun  was  down 

I  made  Corcyra :  thence,  within  five  days 

To  Delphi :  where,  Lustration  to  the  God 

iMade  for  myself,  the  Army,  and  the  Fleet, 

In  five  days  more  I  reach'd  the  Roman  Camp ; 

Took  the  Command ;  redress'd  what  was  amiss  : 

And,  for  King  Perseus  would  not  forth  to  fight. 

And,  for  his  Camp's  strength,  forth  could  not  be  forced, 

I  slipp'd  beside  him  through  the  Mountain-pass 

To  Pydna ;  whither  when  himself  forced  back. 

And  fight  he  must,  I  fought,  I  routed  him  : 

And  all  the  War  that,  swelling  for  four  years, 

Consul  to  Consul  handed  over  worse 

Than  from  his  Predecessor  he  took  up. 

In  fifteen  days  victoriously  I  closed. 

Nor  stay'd  my  Fortune  here.     Upon  Success 

Success  came  rolling :  with  their  Army  lost, 

The  Macedonian  Cities  all  gave  in  ; 

Into  my  hands  the  Royal  Treasure  then  — 

And,  by  and  by,  the  King's  self  and  his  Sons, 

As  by  the  very  finger  of  the  Gods 

Betray'd,  whose  Temple  they  had  fled  to  —  fell. 

And  now  my  swollen  Fortune  to  myself 

Became  suspicious  :  I  began  to  dread 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


123 


The  seas  that  were  to  carry  such  a  freight 

Of  Conquest,  and  of  Conquerors.     IJut  when 

With  all-propitious  Wind  and  Wave  we  reach'd 

Italian  Earth  again,  and  all  was  done 

That  was  to  be,  and  nothing  furthermore 

To  deprecate  or  pray  for  — •  still  I  pray'd  ; 

That,  whereas  human  Fortune,  having  touch'd 

The  destined  height  it  may  not  rise  beyond, 

Forthwith  begins  as  fatal  a  decline, 

Its  Fall  might  but  myself  and  mine  involve. 

Swerving  beside  my  Country.     Be  it  so  ! 

By  my  sole  sacrifice  may  jealous  Fate 

Absolve  the  Public ;  and  by  such  a  Triumph 

As,  in  derision  of  all  Human  Glory, 

Began  and  closed  with  those  two  Funerals. 

Yes,  at  that  hour  were  Perseus  and  myself 

Together  two  notorious  monuments 

Standing  of  Human  Instability  : 

He  that  was  late  so  absolute  a  King, 

Now  Bondsman,  and  his  Sons  along  with  him 

Still  living  Trophies  of  my  Conquest  led ; 

While  I,  the  Conqueror,  scarce  had  turn'd  my  face 

From  one  still  unextinguisht  Funeral, 

And  from  my  Triumph  to  the  Capitol 

Return  —  return  to  close  the  dying  Eyes 

Of  the  last  Son  I  yet  might  call  my  own. 


124 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


Last  of  all  those  who  should  have  borne  my  name 

To  after  Ages  down.     For  ev'n  as  one 

Presuming  on  a  rich  Posterity, 

And  blind  to  Fate,  my  two  surviving  Sons 

Into  two  noble  Families  of  Rome 

I  had  adopted  — 

And  PauUus  is  the  last  of  all  his  Name. 

II 

SIR   CHARLES   NAPIER 

WRITING   HOME   AFTER   THE   BATTLE   OF    MEANEE 
{See  his  Memoirs,  Vol.  Ii,  p.  429.) 

[Leaving  the  Battle  to  be  fought  again 
Over  the  wine  with  all  our  friends  at  home, 
I  needs  must  tell,  before  my  letter  close, 
Of  one  result  that  you  will  like  to  hear.] 

The  Officers  who  under  my  command 

Headed  and  led  the  British  Troops  engaged 

In  this  last  Battle  that  decides  the  War, 

Resolved  to  celebrate  the  Victory 

With  those  substantial  Honours  that,  you  know. 

So  much  good  English  work  begins  and  ends  with. 

Resolved  by  one  and  all,  the  day  was  named ; 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


125 


One  mighty  Tent,  with  '  room  and  verge  enough ' 

To  hold  us  all,  of  many  Tents  made  up 

Under  the  very  walls  of  Hydrabad, 

And  then  and  there  were  they  to  do  me  honour. 

Some  of  them  grizzled  Veterans  like  myself : 

Some  scorcht  with  Indian  Sun  and  Service  ;  some 

With  unrecover'd  wound  or  sickness  pale ; 

And  some  upon  whose  boyish  cheek  the  rose 

They  brought  with  them  from  England  scarce  had  faded. 

Imagine  these  in  all  varieties 

Of  Uniform,  Horse,  Foot,  Artillery, 

Ranged  down  the  gaily  decorated  Tent, 

Each  with  an  Indian  servant  at  his  back. 

Whose  dusky  feature.  Oriental  garb. 

And  still,  but  supple,  posture  of  respect 

Served  as  a  foil  of  contrast  to  the  lines 

Of  animated  English  Officers. 

Over  our  heads  our  own  victorious  Colours 

Festoon'd  with  those  wrencht  from  the  Indian  hung, 

While  through  the  openings  of  the  tent  were  seen 

Darkling  the  castle  walls  of  Hydrabad ; 

And,  further  yet,  the  monumental  Towers 

Of  the  Kalloras  and  Talpoors  ;  and  yet 

Beyond,  and  last,  —  the  Field  of  Meanee, 

Yes,  there  in  Triumph  as  upon  the  tombs 

Of  two  extinguisht  Dynasties  we  sate. 


126 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


Beside  the  field  of  blood  we  quench'd  them  in. 

And  I,  chief  Actor  in  that  Scene  of  Death, 

And  foremost  in  the  passing  Triumph  —  I, 

Veteran  in  Service  as  in  years,  though  now 

First  call'd  to  play  the  General  —  I  myself 

So  swiftly  disappearing  from  the  stage 

Of  all  this  world's  transaction  !  —  As  I  sate. 

My  thoughts  reverted  to  that  setting  Sun 

That  was  to  rise  on  our  victorious  march  ; 

When  from  a  hillock  by  my  tent  alone 

I  look'd  down  over  twenty  thousand  Men 

Husht  in  the  field  before  me,  like  a  Fire 

Prepared,  and  waiting  but  my  breath  to  blaze. 

And  now,  methought,  the  Work  is  done  ;  is  done. 

And  well ;  for  those  who  died,  and  those  who  live 

To  celebrate  our  common  Glory,  well ; 

And,  looking  round,  I  whisper'd  to  myself  — 

"These  are  my  Children  —  these  whom  I  have  led 

Safe  through  the  Vale  of  Death  to  Victory, 

And  in  a  righteous  cause  ;  righteous,  I  say. 

As  for  our  Country's  welfare,  so  for  this, 

Where  from  henceforth  Peace,  Order,  Industry, 

Blasted  and  trampled  under  heretofore 

By  every  lawless  Ruffian  of  the  Soil, 

Shall  now  strike  root,  and  "  —  I  was  running  on 

With  all  that  was  to  be,  when  suddenly 


FITZGERALD'S  MINOR  POEMS 


127 


My  Name  was  call'd;  the  glass  was  fiU'd  ;  all  rose; 
And,  as  they  pledged  me  cheer  on  cheer,  the  Cannon 
Roar'd  it  abroad,  with  each  successive  burst 
Of  Thunder  lighting  up  the  banks  now  dark 
Of  Indus,  which  at  Inundation-height, 
Beside  the  Tent  we  revell'd  in  roU'd  down 
Audibly  growling  —  "But  a  hand-breadth  higher. 
And  whose  the  Land  you  boast  as  all  your  own  !  " 


I  "  These  two  poems  were  printed  privately  on  a  single  sheet  of 
paper,  paged  from  i  to  6.  Collation  :  —  Small  quarto :  pp.  8  (last 
two  blank  and  unnumbered).  They  had  apparently  been  offered  to 
Mactnillaii's  Magazine  and  declined.  In  a  letter  to  Prof.  E.  B. 
Cowelh  dated  May  28,  1868,  FitzGerald  wrote: 

"  '  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you  about  Macmillan :  I  should  not  have 
done  so  had  I  kept  my  Copy  with  your  corrections  as  well  as  my 
own.  As  Lamb  said  of  himself,  so  I  say;  that  I  never  had  any 
Luck  with  printing :  I  certainly  don't  mean  that  I  have  had  much 
cause  to  complain :  but,  for  instance,  I  know  that  Livy  and  Napier, 
put  into  good  Verse,  are  just  worth  a  corner  in  one  of  the  swarm  of 
Shilling  Monthlies'  ('Letters,'  ii.  105). 

"On  July  25,  1868,  he  wrote  to  the  same  correspondent: 

"  '  I  only  wanted  Macmillan  to  return  the  Verses  if  he  wouldn't 
use  them,  because  of  my  having  no  corrected  Copy  of  them.' 

"  Probably  they  had  been  written  several  years  before,  as  Mr. 
f'rancis  Ilindes  Groome  found  a  copy  of  '  Lucius  /Emilius  Paullus' 
in  a  MS.  note-book  belonging  to  liis  father.  Archdeacon  Groome, 
which  he  has  reprinted  in  his  delightful  book  'Two  Suffolk  Friends.' 
This  version  differs  considerably  from  that  given  by  Mr.  Aldis 
Wright  in  the  '  Letters  and  Literary  Remains  of  Edward  FitzGerald,' 
ii.  483,  which  is  a  reprint  of  the  privately  printed  sheet." 

W.    F.    PRTDEAIJX. 


NOTES  ON  CHARLES  LAMB- 


CHARLES    LAMB, 


Born  February  lo,  in  Crown  Office  Row,  Middle 
Temple,  where  his  Father,  John  Lamb  (Elia's^  Lovelt) 
was  confidential  Factotum  to  Samuel  Salt,  one  of  the 
Benchers.  John  Lamb  had  two  other  children ;  John 
{James  Elid)  born  in  1763,  and  a  clerk  in  the  South  Sea 
House;  Mary  {^Bi-idget  Elid)  born  in  1765. 

Charles  Lamb  sent  to  Christ's  Hospital,  where  Jem 
White  an  officer ;  and  Coleridge,  George  Dyer,  and  Le 
Grice,  his  school-fellows. 

Leaves  School. 

Made  Clerk  in  the  East  India  House ;  occasionally 
meeting  Coleridge  (from  Cambridge)  at  the  "  Salutation 
and  Cat,"  17,  Newgate  Street;  and  by  him  introduced  to 
Southey,  and  Charles  Lloyd,  all  warm  with  Poetry, 
Pantisocracy,  &c. 


■  "  The  Data  for  the  life  of  Charles  Lamb  are  frequently 
mentioned  in  FitzGerald's  letters  and  are  here  printed  from  a  copy 
annotated  in  his  own  hand.  They  do  not  profess  to  be  exhaustive, 
and  were  only  intended  to  serve  as  a  guide  to  the  readers  of  Lamb's 
Letters  as  they  originally  appeared.  The  notes  in  square  brackets 
are  added  by  myself ." — \V.  Aldis  Wright  in  Preface  to  Miscellanies 
by  Ed-ward  FUzGerald  (1900),  p.  vi. 

2  "Call  him  Elliay     C.  L.  to  Taylor,  his  i)ublislior. 


1775 


1782 


1789 
1792 


I30 


NOTES    ON   CHARLES  LAMB 


1795 


1796 


1797 


Living  with  paralysed  Father,  Mother,  aged  Aunt,  and 
Sister  Mary,  on  their  united  means  of  about  ;^i8o  a  year, 
at  7,  Little  Queen  Street,  Holborn. 

At  the  end  of  last  year,  and  beginning  of  this,  C.  L.  for 
six  weeks  in  a  mad-house  at  Hoxton.  Soon  after  this,  his 
Brother  John  (who  does  not  live  with  the  Family)  is 
brought  home  to  be  nursed  by  them  after  an  accident 
which  threatened  his  own  mind  also.  And  on  September 
22,  Mary  Lamb,  worn  out  with  nursing  her  Family,  kills 
her  Mother,  beside  wounding  her  Father,  in  a  fit  of 
insanity.  Charles  wrests  the  knife  from  her  hand  and 
places  her  in  a  Private  —  he  will  not  hear  of  a  Public  — 
Asylum,  for  so  long  as  his  Father  survives. 

His  Father  dying,  and  canying  with  him  what  pension 
he  had  from  Mr.  Salt,  Charles  takes  his  sister  home,  and 
lives  with  her  on  little  more  than  his  Clerkship  of  ^100  a 
year.  The  old  Aunt  who  lived  with  them  dies  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year:  and  another  Aunt  (Hetty)  who 
had  been  taken  to  live  with  a  Kinswoman  is  returned 
home  at  the  end  of  it'  to  linger  out  nearly  three  years  with 
them.  In  the  meanwhile,  Charles  visits  Coleridge  in 
Somersetshire,  where  he  meets  Wordsworth. 


•  I  find  but  one  Aunt  named  by  Lamb's  biographers ;  but  the 
oversight  may  be  mine.  Certainly  two  are  named  as  above  in 
Lamb's  letters  to  Coleridge  19,  22  ;  and  29,  34,  [Moxon's  edition]. 
[Lamb's  Aunt,  his  father's  sister,  died  9  Feb.  1797.  Hetty,  who 
died  9  May  iSoo,  was  probably  the  old  maidservant.] 


NOTES    ON   CHARLES   LAMB 


131 


Rosamund  Gray.  Poems  by  C.  Lloyd  and  C.  Lamb 
published,  some  of  which  had  been  included  in  a  previous 
volume  of  Coleridge's,  who  goes  to  Germany  at  Mid- 
sununer ;  up  to  which  time  he  was  Lamb's  chief 
correspondent  and  adviser.     After  which. 

Correspondence  with  Southey ;  toward  the  end  of 
the  year  introduction  by  C.  Lloyd  to  Manning,  Math- 
ematical Tutor  at  Cambridge :  who  becomes  Lamb's 
most  intimate  friend  and  correspondent  till  his  departure 
for  China. 

Established  with  Mary  at  16,  Mitre  Court  Buildings.' 
Correspondence  with  Wordsworth  begins. 

"  John  Woodvil  "  published.  About  this  time  Lamb 
comes  to  know  Godwin  and  Hazlitt. 

Visit  with  Mary  to  Coleridge  at  Keswick,  who,  after- 
ward engaging  to  write  for  the  Morning  Post,  gets  Lamb 
to  jest  for  it,  at  £2  2s.  a  week. 

No  literary  work  :  punning  for  the  "  Post  "  discontinued. 

No  Letter  extant,  save  one  to  Southey :  but  much  drink 
and  smoke  by  night,  and  depression  by  day  :  a  condition 
which,  as  we  know  from  his  own,  and  his  sister's  letters, 
had  begun  some  years  before,  and  lasted  some  years 
after. 


1798 


I  Before  settling  here,  he  had  lived  at  [45]  Chapel  Street,  Penton- 
ville;  where  he  fell  in  love  —  for  the  first  and  only  time  —  with 
Hester  Savory,  the  Quaker. 


1799 


1803 
1804 


132 


NOTES    ON   CHARLES  LAMB 


1806 


1807 


1809 


1817 


1820 
1821 
1822 


1823 


Manning  goes  to  China.  "  Mr.  H."  written  in  a  3s.  per 
week  room,  acted  at  Drury  Lane  and  damned. 

Tales  from  "  Shakespeare  "  by  C.  and  M.  Lamb. 

"  Specimens  of  Old  Dramatists :"  "  Adventures  of 
Ulysses ;"  "  Mrs.  Leicester's  School :"  and,  soon  after 
(1810),  "Poetry  for  Children:"  in  all  which,  except  the 
two  first.  Sister  and  Brother  have  a  hand. 

Removal  to  4,  Inner  Temple  Lane,  top-story,  where  the 
"  Wednesday  nights." 

Removed  to  [21,]  Great  Russell  Street,  corner'  of  Bow 
Street,  (once  Will's  Coffee  House,)  by  and  by  taking  also 
a  lodging  at  14,  Kingsland  Road,  Dalston,  to  escape  from 
over-much  company. 

"  Elia  "  begun  with  London  Magazine. 

John  Lamb  dies. 

Trip  to  France  with  Mary,  who,  taken  ill,  is  left  with  a 
friend  at  Amiens  while  Charles  runs  to  Paris,  sees  Talma, 
&c.     His  only  visit  abroad. 

Elia  published  separately :  difference  and  reconciliation 
with  Southey;  and  removal  from  lodgings  to  Cole- 
brooke  (Coin-brook)  Cottage,  Lslington,  as  householders. 
During  a  holiday  at  Cambridge  becomes  acquainted  with. 


I  [In  a  letter  to  Miss  Wordsworth  in  November  181 7,  Mary  Lamb 
says  they  are  living  at  a  brazier's  shop,  No.  20,  in  Russell  Street, 
Covent  Garden.  According  to  a  London  Directory  of  that  year,  No. 
21,  the  comer  house,  was  occupied  by  Thomas  Owen,  an  ironmonger, 
and  No.  20  was  apparently  a  private  house.] 


NOTES   ON   CHARLES   LAMB 


^2>i 


and  finally  adopts,  Emma  Isola,  orphan  daughter  of  an 
Italian  refugee  and  Esquire  Bedell  there. 

Pensioned  off  by  the  India  House  on  ^450  a  year,  with 
a  small  deduction  for  Mar)'  in  case  of  her  surviving  him  : 
as  she  did  for  13  years ;  dying  May  1847, 

Removes  from  Islington  to  a  small  house  at  Enfield 
Chase,  where  he  had  previously  lodged  from  time  to 
time.' 

His  old  servant  Becky  having  married  and  left,  and  his 
sister  too  much  worried  with  housekeeping,  they  go  to 
lodge  and  board  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Westwood  next  door, 
in  Enfield. 

To  "  Bay  Cottage,"  Church  Street,  Edmonton,  to  board 
and  lodge  with  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Walden,  under  whose  care 
Mary  had  previously  been.  Emma  Isola  marries  Moxon 
the  Publisher  at  Midsummer. 

Coleridge  dies  July  25  ;  and  Charles  Lamb  Dec.  24.^ 


•  On  removing  from  Islington  to  Enfield  in  1827  Lamb  had 
written  to  Hood ; 

"  To  change  habitations  is  to  die  with  them,  and  in  my  time  I 
have  died  seven  deaths.  My  household  deaths  have  been  all 
periodical,  recurring  after  seven  years." 

This  may  include  some  minor  removals ;  such  as  more  than  once 
in  .Southampton  Buildings,  Holbom. 

2  He  left  ;^2000  —  all  his  Earnings  —  for  his  Sister's  use. 


1825 


1S27 


I«29 


1833 


1834 


THE  ONLY  DARTER 

A    SUFFOLK    CLERGYMAN'S    REMINISCENCE 

Our  young  parson  said  to  me  t'other  daa,  "John," 
sez  he,  "  din't  yeou  nivver  hev  a  darter?"  "  Sar,"  sez  I, 
"  I  had  one  once,  but  she  ha'  been  dead  close  on  thatty 
years."     And  then  I  towd  him  about  my  poor  mor.' 

"  I  lost  my  fust  wife  thatty-three  years  ago.  She  left 
me  with  six  bors  and  Susan.  She  was  the  owdest  of 
them  all,  tarned  sixteen  when  her  mother  died.  She  was 
a  fine  jolly  gal,  with  lots  of  sperit.  I  coon't  be  alluz  at 
home,  and  tho'  I'd  nivver  a  wadd^  to  saa  aginst  Susan, 
yet  I  thowt  I  wanted  some  one  to  look  arter  her  and  the 
bors.  Gals  want  a  mother  more  than  bors.  So  arter  a 
year  I  married  my  second  wife,  and  a  rale  good  wife  she 
ha'  bin  to  me.  But  Susan  coon't  git  on  with  her.  She'd 
dew  3  what  she  was  towd,  but  'twarn't  done  pleasant,  and 
when  she  spook  she  spook  so  short.  My  wife  was  werry 
patient  with  her ;  but  dew  all  she  could,  she  nivver  could 
git  on  with  Susan. 

"  I'd  a  married  sister  in  London,  whue  cum  down  to 
see  us  at  Whissuntide.  She  see  how  things  fared,  and 
she  saa  to  me,  '  John,'  sez  she,  '  dew  yeou  let  Susan  go 

I   Afa7ui/ier,  y,\T\.  2  Word.  '  Ho. 


I-.6 


THE    ONLY  DARTER 


back  with  me,  and  I'll  git  her  a  good  place  and  see  arter 
her.'  So  'twas  sattled.  Susan  was  all  for  goin',  and  when 
she  went  she  kiss't  me  and  all  the  bors,  but  she  nivver  sed 
nawthin'  to  my  wife,  'cept  just  '  Good-bye.'  She  fared  to 
git  a  nice  quite '  place ;  but  then  my  sister  left  London, 
and  Susan's  missus  died,  and  so  she  had  to  git  a  place 
where  she  could.  So  she  got  a  place  where  they  took  in 
lodgers,  and  Susan  and  her  missus  did  all  the  cookin'  and 
waitin'  between  'em.  Susan  sed  arterwards  that  'twarn't 
what  she  had  to  dew,  but  the  runnin'  up-stairs ;  that's 
what  killt  her.  There  was  one  owd  gentleman,  who  lived 
at  the  top  of  the  house.  He'd  ring  his  bell,  and  if  she 
din't  go  di-reckly,  he'd  ring  and  ring  agen,  fit  to  bring 
the  house  down.  One  daa  he  rung  three  times,  but  Susan 
was  set  fast,  and  coon't  go ;  and  when  she  did,  he  spook 
so  sharp,  that  it  wholly  upset  her,  and  she  dropt  down  o' 
the  floor  all  in  a  faint.  He  hollered  out  at  the  top  o'  the 
stairs  ;  and  sum  o'  the  fooks  cum  runnin'  up  to  see  what 
was  the  matter.  Arter  a  bit  she  cum  round,  and  they  got 
her  to  bed ;  but  she  was  so  bad  that  they  had  to  send 
for  the  doctor.  The  owd  gentleman  was  so  wexed,  he  sed 
he'd  paa  for  the  doctor  as  long  as  he  could  ;  but  when 
the  doctor  sed  she  was  breedin'  a  faver,  nawthing  would 
satisfy  her  missus  but  to  send  her  to  the  horspital,  while 
she  could  go. 

I  Quiet. 


THE    ONLY  DARTER 


m 


"  So  she  went  into  the  horspital,  and  laa  five  weeks  and 
din't  know  nobody.  Last  she  begun  to  mend,  and  she 
sed  that  the  fooks  there  were  werry  kind.  She  had  a  bed 
to  herself  in  a  big  room  with  nigh  twenty  others.  Ivry 
daa  the  doctor  cum  round,  and  spook  to  'em  all  in  tarn. 
He  was  an  owdish  gentleman,  and  sum  young  uns  cum 
round  with  him.  One  mornin'  he  sjia  to  Susan,  '  Well, 
my  dear,'  sez  he,  'how  do  yeou  feel  to-day?'  She  saa, 
*  Kind  o'  middlin',  sir.'  She  towd  me  that  one  o'  the 
young  gentlemen  sort  o'  laffed  when  he  h'ard  her,  and 
stopped  behind  and  saa  to  her,  '  Do  yeou  cum  out  o' 
Suffolk  t '  She  saa,  'Yes ;  what,  do  yeou  know  me  ? '  She 
was  so  pleased !  He  axed  her  where  she  cum  from,  and 
when  she  towd  him,  he  saa,  '  1  know  the  clargyman  of  the 
parish,'  He'd  a  rose  in  his  button-hole,  and  he  took  it 
out  and  gov  it  her,  and  he  saa,  '  Yeou'U  like  to  hev  it,  for 
that  cum  up  from  Suffolk  this  mornin'.'  Poor  mor,  she 
was  so  pleased !  Well,  arter  a  bit  she  got  better,  and  the 
doctor  saa,  '  My  dear,  yeou  must  go  and  git  nussed  at 
home.  That'll  dew  more  for  yeou  than  all  the  doctors' 
stuff  here.' 

"  She  han't  no  money  left  to  pria  for  her  jarney.  But 
the  young  gentleman  made  a  gatherin'  for  her,  and  when 
the  nuss  went  with  her  to  the  station,  he  holp  her  into  the 
cab,  and  gov  her  the  money.  Whue  he  was  she  din't  know, 
and  I  don't  now,  but  I  alluz  siia,  '  God  bless  him  for  it.' 


"MASTER   CHARLEY" 

A  SUFFOLK  LABOURER'S  STORY 

The  Owd  Master  at  the  Hall  had  two  children  —  Mr. 
James  and  Miss  Mary.  Mr.  James  was  ivver  so  much 
owder  than  Miss  Mary.  She  come  kind  o'  unexpected  like, 
and  she  warn't  but  a  little  thing  when  she  lost  her  mother. 
When  she  got  owd  enough  Owd  Master  sent  her  to  a 
young  ladies'  skule.  She  was  there  a  soot  o'  years,  and 
when  she  come  to  stiia  at  home,  she  was  such  a  pretty 
young  lady,  that  she  was.  She  was  werry  fond  of  cum- 
pany,  but  there  warn't  the  lissest  bit  wrong  about  her. 
There  was  a  young  gentleman,  from  the  sheres,  who  lived 
at  a  farm  in  the  next  parish,  where  he  was  come  to  larn 
farmin'.  He  was  w-erry  fond  of  her,  and  though  his  own 
folks  din't  like  it,  it  was  all  sattled  that  he  was  soon  to 
marry  her.  Then  he  hear'd  suffen  about  her,  which  warn't 
a  bit  true,  and  he  went  awaa,  and  was  persuaded  to  marry 
somebody  else.  Miss  Mary  took  on  bad  about  it,  but  that 
warn't  the  wust  of  it.  She  had  a  baby  before  long,  and 
he  was  the  father  on't. 

O  lawk,  a  lawk !  how  the  Owd  Master  did  break  out 
when  he  hear'd  of  it !  My  mother  lived  close  by,  and 
nussed  poor  Miss  Mary,  so  I've  h'ard  all  about  it.  He 
woun't  let  the  child  stop  in  the  house,  but  sent  it  awiia  to 
a  house  three  miles  off,  where  the  woman  had  lost  her 


142 


MASTER    CHARLEY'' 


child.  But  when  Miss  Mary  got  about,  the  woman  used 
to  bring  the  baby  —  he  was  "Master  Charley" — to  my 
mother's.  One  daa,  when  she  went  down,  my  mother 
towd  her  that  he  warn't  well ;  so  off  she  went  to  see  him. 
When  she  got  home  she  was  late,  and  the  owd  man  was 
kep'  waitin'  for  his  dinner.  As  soon  as  he  see  her,  he 
roared  out,  "  What !  hev  yeou  bin  to  see  yar  bastard  ? " 
"O  father,"  says  she,  "yeou  shoun't  saa  so."  "Shoun't 
saa  so,"  said  he,  "shoun't  I  ?  I  can  saa  wuss  than  that." 
And  then  he  called  her  a  bad  name.  She  got  up,  nivver 
said  a  wadd,  but  walked  straight  out  of  the  front  door. 
They  din't  take  much  notiz  at  fust,  but  when  she  din't 
come  back,  they  got  scared,  and  looked  for  her  all  about ; 
and  at  last  they  found  her  in  the  moot,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  orchard. 

0  lawk,  a  lawk  ! 

The  Owd  Master  nivver  could  howd  up  arter  that. 
'Fore  that,  if  he  was  put  out,  yeou  could  hear  'im  all  over 
the  farm,  a-cussin'  and  swearin'.  He  werry  seldom  spook 
to  anybody  now,  but  he  was  alluz  about  arly  and  late ; 
nothin'  seemed  to  tire  him.  'Fore  that  he  nivver  went  to 
charch  ;  now  he  went  reg'ler.  But  he  wud  saa  sumtimes, 
comin'  out,  "  Parson's  a  fule."  But  if  anybody  was  ill, 
he  bod  'em  go  up  to  the  Hall  and  ax  for  suffen.'  There 
was  young  Farmer  Whoo's  wife  was  werry  bad,  and  the 

1  Something. 


' '  MA S TER    CHA RLEV " 


H3 


doctor  saa  that  what  she  wanted  was  London  poort.  So 
he  sent  my  father  to  the  marchant  at  Ipswich,  to  bring 
back  four  dozen.  Arter  dark  he  was  to  lave  it  at  the 
house,  but  not  to  knock.  They  nivver  knew  where  ta 
come  from  till  arter  he  died.  But  he  fare  to  get  waker, 
and  to  stupe  more  ivry  year. 

Yeou  ax  me  about  "  Master  Charley."  Well,  he  growed 
up  such  a  pretty  bor.  He  lived  along  with  my  mother 
for  the  most  part,  and  Mr.  James  was  so  fond  of  him. 
He'd  come  down,  and  pliia  and  talk  to  him  the  hour 
togither,  and  Master  Charley  would  foller  'im  about  like  a 
little  dawg. 

One  daa  they  was  togither,  and  Owd  Master  met  'em. 
"James,"  said  he,  "what  bor  is  that  alluz  follerin'  yeou 
about?"  He  said,  "It's  Mary's  child."  The  owd  man 
tarned  round  as  if  he'd  bin  shot,  and  went  home  all 
himjMn'  along.  Folks  beared  him  siia,  "Mary's  child! 
Lord  !  Lord  !  "  When  he  got  in,  he  sot  down,  and  nivver 
spook  a  wadd,  'cept  now  and  then,  "  Mary's  child  !  Lord ! 
Lord!"  He  coun't  ate  no  dinner;  but  he  towd  'em  to 
go  for  my  mother  ;  and  when  she  come,  he  siia  to  her, 
"  Missus,  yeou  must  git  me  to  bed."  And  there  he  laa 
all  night,  nivver  slapin'  a  bit,  but  goin'  on  saain,  "Mary's 
child  !  Lord !  Lord  1^''  quite  solemn  like.  Sumtimes  he'd 
saa,  "I've  bin  a  bad  un  in  my  time,  I  hev." 

Next  mornin'  Mr.  James  sent  for  the  doctor,     liut  when 


144 


MASTER    CHARLEY" 


he  come,  Owd  Master  said,  "Yeou  can  do  nothin'  for 
me ;  I  oon't  take  none  o'  yar  stuff."  No  more  he  would. 
Then  Mr.  James  saa,  "  Would  yeou  like  to  see  the  par- 
son ? "  He  din't  saa  nothin'  for  some  time,  then  he  said, 
"  Yeou  may  send  for  him."  When  the  parson  come  — 
and  he  was  a  nice  quite  '  owd  gentleman,  we  were  werry 
fond  of  him  —  he  went  up  and  staa'd  some  time;  but  he 
nivver  said  nothin'  when  he  come  down.  Howsomdiver, 
Owd  Master  laa  more  quiter  arter  that,  and  when  they 
axed  him  to  take  his  med'cin  he  took  it.  Then  he  slep' 
for  some  hours,  and  when  he  woke  up  he  called  out  quite 
clear,  "James."  And  when  Mr.  James  come,  he  siia  to 
him,  "James,"  sez  he,  "I  ha'  left  ivrything  to  yeou;  do 
yeou  see  that  Mary  hev  her  share."  You  notiz,  he  din't 
saa,  "  Mary's  child,"  but  "  Mary  hev  her  share."  Arter  a 
little  while  he  said,  "  James,  I  should  like  to  see  the  little 
chap."  He  warn't  far  off,  and  my  mother  made  him  tidy, 
and  brushed  his  hair  and  parted  it.  Then  she  took  him 
up,  and  put  him  close  to  the  bed.  Owd  Master  bod  'em 
put  the  curtain  back,  and  he  laa  and  looked  at  Master 
Charley.  And  then  he  said,  quite  slow  and  tendersome, 
"  Yeou're  a'most  as  pritty  as  your  mother  was,  my  dear." 

Them  was  the  last  words  he  ivver  spook. 

Mr.  James  nivver  married,  and  when  he  died  he  left 
ivrything  to  Master  Charley. 

I   Quiet 


:erning  y' 

OF  Kf 


TO  THK  GRAVE 


The  Great  Eastern  route 
ilows  the  coastline.     Betv 


ig  bank:. 
••  wide  stretches 

icken-cov 

'mmoiyj  v>  .,  ...    .:-    •  , 

is  in  full  flower.     Tk< 

c ;  as  the  local  adage 
;t  o'  bloom,  kiisi 

ied  by  i' 

•  r,  and   \\i. ..; 


■w- 
jKi>  sviiere 

-    :..urish,  and 

St  to  the  fonsil-bunter,  there 
lit  haun  birds;  and 


altogether 
n  the  -whins  are  ' 
rhe  seaboard  is ; 
.a  are  the  sportsman's  ' 
...J. plied   cover   for   sterner 


lot  so  many  years  ago,  when  a  r^rs^o  of  brandy  d 
/■'  tobacco  was  "run  "  ashore.  jrs,  for  tht 

jart,  are 


i('  Svo.    *'p  JO 


■ao'vr      uiu,        J  C.J  a     L,.i:j     viu    uuthitl'    for 

Hic  ,   t  .;  aone  o'  yar  stuff."     No  more  he  would. 

Then  Mr.  James  saa,  "  Would  yeou  like  to  see  the  par- 

■  sl»u  ?  "     He  din't  saa  nothin'  for  some  time,  then  he  said, 

'•  Veou  'ii.iy  send  for  him."     When  the  parson  come  — 

;•  '  .li  a  nice  quite'  owd  gentleman,  we  were  werry 

'im — he  went  up  and  staa'd  some  time;  but  he 

nothin'  when  he  come  down.     Howsomdiver, 

more  quiter  arter  that,  and  when  they 

'■■'    •:^'-''  'r  h    •■   ■    ■"      "i^^ -,■    he  slep' 

iut  quite 

when   >  .e,  he  saa  to 

ha'iett  ivrything  to  yeou;  do 

ycv  ■        ■'     You  notiz,  he  din't 

V     ,  ^  •  her  share."     Arter  a 

•  while  he  ssiv  'd  like  to  see  the  little 

He  warn't  far  oft,  and  my  rnoiher  made  him  tidy, 
.bed  his  hair  and  parted  it.     Then  she  took  him 

"  Master 

I  Charley.     And  then  he  said,  quite  slow  and  tendersome, 

ou're  a'most  as  pritty  as  your  mother  was,  my  dear." 

j       i'iiem  was  the  last  words  he  ivver  spook. 

'      Mr   jiimes  nivver  married,  r\'^^  uh  n   :-•-  '  n'- .1  h,^  i.-ft- 

'•.:•   hi";.;  to  Master  Charley. 


CONCERNING  A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  GRAVE 
OF  EDWARD  FITZGERALD  • 

The  Great  Eastern  route  through  Suffolk  to  Yarmouth 
follows  the  coastline.  Between  the  railway  and  the  low- 
lying,  shingle-terraced  shore,  with  its  sand  hillocks,  where 
only  coarse  matted  grass  and  the  sea-thistle  flourish,  and 
its  crag  banks  full  of  interest  to  the  fossil-hunter,  there 
are  wide  stretches  of  mere,  the  haunt  of  wild  birds ;  and 
of  bracken-covered  heath-land  with  spinneys  of  Scotch 
fir ;  commons  which  are  a  glory  of  golden  fire  when  the 
gorse  is  in  full  flower.  The  blossom  is  never  altogether 
absent ;  as  the  local  adage  has  it,  "  When  the  whins  are 
out  o'  bloom,  kissin's  out  o'  fashion."  The  seaboard  is 
indented  by  rivers  whose  avifauna  are  the  sportsman's 
delight,  and  whose  creeks  supplied  cover  for  sterner 
sport  not  so  many  years  ago,  when  a  cargo  of  brandy  or 
silks  or  tobacco  was  "  run  "  ashore.  These  rivers,  for  the 
most  part,  are  navigable  within  a  short  distance  of  their 
source,  so  that  there  is  scarcely  a  part  of  the  country 
more  than  ten  miles  from  water-ways.     At  ebb  tide,  when 


"  Fifty  copies  of  this  Pilgrimage  by  Edward  Clodd  were  "printed 
for  private  distribution  to  the  members  of  the  Omar  Khayydm 
Clul)."     London,  1894.     Ulue  wrapper.     Fcap  8vo.     Pp.  20. 


146 


A   PILGRIMAGE 


the  mud  is  uncovered  and  blends  indistinguishably  with 
the  shelving  banks,  the  flat  grazing  lands,  with  their  long 
straight  lines  of  ditches  (whence  delicious  eels  are 
"  pritched  "),  and  the  windmills,  which  help  to  drain  the 
soil  or  which  grind  the  corn ;  make  the  traveller  feel  that 
he  must  be  in  Holland,  and,  looking  only  eastwards,  he 
would  see  a  landscape  of  unredeemed  monotony,  save 
under  certain  chiaroscuro  effects,  which  invest  it  with  a 
weird  attractiveness.  Turning  westward,  however,  he 
would  find  the  scenery  not  lacking  in  picturesqueness. 
For  inland  the  country  is  undulating  and  well-wooded, 
revealing  through  the  fine  timber  of  many  a  park  some 
noble  manor-house,  a  home  "of  ancient  peace;"  often  a 
moated  hall,  such  as  the  lovely  old  example  at  Parham, 
with  its  Tudor  gateway.  The  hedges,  in  their  tangle  of 
sweetbriar  and  sloebush  and  bramble,  which  fringe  the 
well-kept  highways  and  leafy  lanes,  lead  past  sleepy  little 
towns  to  scattered  groups  of  cottages,  —  splashes  and 
dots  of  red  amidst  festoons  of  green,  —  some  on  hilly 
ground  where  the  square  flint-church  tower  breaks  the 
skyline  ;  some  by  "  dewy  pastures,"  or  nestling  in  dells  — 
native  scenes  which  Gainsborough  and  Constable  painted; 
villages  where  a  fair-haired,  open-faced  peasantry  greet 
one  in  a  dialect  whose  every  sentence  ends  in  a  rising 
note,  and  betrays  the  source  of  the  nasal  twang  which  the 
Puritans  carried  to  the  New  World. 


BouLGE    Churchyard 


A   PILGRIMAGE 


147 


Such,  in  bald  outline,  is  the  country  where  Edward 
FitzGerald  was  born,  and  lived,  and  died  ;  and  where 
reminiscences  of  the  man  whom  the  "yokels,"  in  their 
usual  assessment  of  genius,  called  "  dotty,"  are  yet 
plentiful.  How  could  they  know  that  the  man  who 
hobnobbed  with  all,  whose  largeheartedness  took  the 
oddest  and  drollest  of  ways  ;  who,  hearing  that  a  poor 
tradeswoman  was  in  trouble,  emptied  her  shop  of  all  its 
feminine  wares  at  West  End  prices ;  who  "  stood  "  port- 
wine  to  the  fisher  folk  when  they  sighed  for  a  quart  of 
beer ;  who  helped  them  to  buy  their  boats  and  gear,  and 
never  asked  for  repayment  of  the  loans ;  who  shared 
ventures  with  them  in  herring  craft  —  Afeum  et  Tuum  one 
of  these  was  named,  only  there  was  more  tuum  than 
meujn,  because  he  paid  the  losses  and  refused  the  gains 
—  how  could  these  bumpkins  know  that  here  was  a  man, 
the  peer  of  more  famous  contemporaries,  who  had  the 
esteem  and  affection  ("  my  friendships  are  like  loves,"  he 
said)  of  Thackeray  (Brookfield  and  "Old  Fitz  "  had  first 
place  in  that  big  heart),  Tennyson  and  his  brothers,  Dr. 
Thompson  of  Trinity,  Spedding,  Carlyle,  and,  among 
lesser  known  worthies,  Archdeacons  Groome  and  Allen, 
Rev.  George  Crabbe,  son  of  the  poet,  and  Bernard  Barton, 
whose  daughter  he  married  ?  The  prophet  met  the  usual 
fate  in  his  own  country,  but  yokels  are  not  the  only 
mortals  to  whom  truth  of  perspective  is  denied. 


I4S 


A    PILGRIMAGE 


Woodbridge  is  the  starting-point  for  visits  to  his  homes 
and  haunts.  Gentle  and  simple  there  alike  knew  him 
well,  and  he  had  his  laugh  against  the  microcosm  of 
provincial  life  when  he  named  his  yacht  the  Scandal 
because  there  was  so  much  of  it  in  the  old  town.  There, 
on  the  7th  of  October  last,  a  party  of  us,  some  of  whom 
knew  FitzGerald  well,  one  being  kinsman  of  his,  and  all 
loving  the  man  as  revealed  in  his  letters  and  for  the  work 
which  he  had  done,  alighted ;  and,  under  a  showery  sky, 
drove  by  roads  whose  bordering  trees  were  showing 
nature's  beauty  of  decay  in  autumn  tints,  to  the  spot 
where  he  has  lain  since  June,  1883.  We  could  not  stay 
to  visit  the  grave  of  Bernard  Barton,  Quaker,  poet,  and 
clerk  in  Alexander's  bank  for  forty  years ;  neither  could 
we  spare  more  than  a  passing  look  at  Bredfield  House, 
where  FitzGerald  was  born  in  1809,  or  at  the  home  where 
his  later  years  were  spent.  Little  Grange,  with  its  "  quarter 
deck  "  garden  which  he  loved  to  pace  when  old  age  had 
dulled  his  appetite  for  the  sea. 

Boulge  reached,  we  walked  across  fields  to  the  little 
churchyard  which  adjoins  the  grounds  of  the  Hall  whither 
FitzGerald's  family  removed  from  Bredfield  in  1835,  ^"^^ 
which  contains  their  mausoleum.  Close  to  it  is  the  grave 
where  he  lies  under  a  granite  slab,  and  thither  we  had 
come,  in  fulfilment  of  a  long-cherished  idea,  to  which  the 
following  incidents  had  given  birth. 


A   PILGRIMAGE 


149 


In  1884  Mr.  William  Simpson,  the  veteran  artist- 
traveller  of  the  Illustrated  London  Ne^vs,  accompanied 
the  Afghan  Boundary  Commission  from  Teheran  to 
Central  Asia.  The  route  lay  near  Naishapiir,  the  ancient 
capital  of  Khorassan,  and  the  birthplace  and  burial  place 
of  the  poet-astronomer  Omar  Khayyam  ;  and  thither  Mr. 
Simpson,  to  whom  the  famous  quatrains  of  FitzGerald's 
version  had  long  been  a  precious  possession,  sped  to  visit 
the  grave.  The  old  "  tent-maker "  who  had  sung  so 
sweetly  of  the  "thousand  roses"  that  "each  morning 
brings,"  and,  infusing  his  song  with  pathos,  had  asked 
the  fate  of  those  which  had  blossomed  yesterday;  had 
told  his  friend  Kwajah  Nizami  that  his  tomb  should  be 
'•  on  a  spot  where  the  north  wind  may  strew  roses  upon 
it."  Omar  Khayyam  has  been  dead  nigh  eight  hundred 
years,  but  his  words  have  not  passed  away.  Roses  still 
scatter  their  petals  by  his  resting-place,  and,  luckily,  it 
happened  that  Mr.  Simpson  was  there  in  the  autumn 
when  the  bushes  were  in  seed.  He  gathered  some  of  the 
hips,  and  appropriately  sent  them  to  Mr.  Quaritch,  who 
had,  with  a  discernment  greater  than  that  of  the  "able 
editor  "  in  whose  drawer  the  manuscript  had  lain  neglected 
two  years,  accepted  it  from  FitzGerald,  publishing  a  poem 
which  was  finally  sold  for  a  penny,  and  is  now  (speaking 
of  the  first  edition)  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  Mr.  Quaritch 
sent  the  hips  to  Kew  Gardens,  where,  under  the  watchful 


ISO 


A    PILGRIMAGE 


care  of  Mr.  Thiselton  Dyer,  the  Director,  and  of  Mr. 
Baker,  the  Keeper,  a  bush  was  successfully  reared, 
although  of  too  delicate  a  nature  to  permit  transfer  to  the 
cold,  clayey  soil  of  Sufifolk.  The  plant,  a  very  slow  grower, 
has  not  even  flowered  yet,  and  Mr.  Thiselton  Dyer  tells 
me  that  Mr.  Baker  is  unable  to  say  what  is  the  species, 
"  but  he  thinks  it  comes  nearest  to  R.  Beggeriana,  which 
was  found  in  plenty  by  the  botanist  of  the  Afghan 
Commission.  This  is  a  bush  about  six  feet  high,  with 
numerous  small  white  flowers."  When  Mr.  Simpson  told 
his  story,  it  seemed  that  the  fittest  thing  to  do  was  to 
plant  a  cutting  from  the  rose  on  FitzGerald's  grave,  and 
into  this  idea  Mr.  Thiselton  Dyer  entered  heartily.  But, 
until  the  summer  of  this  year,  the  sluggard  plant  did  not 
prove  itself  strong  enough  to  permit  the  fulfilment  of  the 
project,  and  then  only  by  being  grafted  on  a  lusty  English 
stock.  Appropriate  enough,  truly,  as  emblem  of  the 
new  life  which  FitzGerald  gave  to  the  Rubdiydt  of  Omar 
in  translating  them  into  vigorous  English  verse,  and 
happily  expressed  in  this  quatrain  which  Grant  Allen 
(one  of  many  —  Thomas  Hardy,  Walter  Besant,  Hindes 
Groome,  Aldis  Wright,  Edmund  Gosse,  Andrew  Lang, 
Thiselton  Dyer,  Theodore  Watts,  and  others  —  who 
could  be  at  Boulge  only  in  spirit),  sent  to  the  present 
writer. 


FiTZ  Gerald's    Grave   at    Boulge 


A   PILGRIMAGE 


151 


Here  on  FitzGerald's  grave,  from  Omar's  tomb, 
To  lay  fit  tribute,  pilgrim  singers  flock ; 
Long  with  a  double  fragrance  let  it  bloom, 
This  Rose  of  Iran  on  an  English  stock. 

When  the  grafted  exotic  was  ready  for  planting,  a 
"pilgrimage  "  to  Boulge  was  organised  under  the  aegis  of 
the  recently  instituted  Omar  Khayyam  Club.  Mr.  Simpson 
narrated  the  finding  and  fortunes  of  the  hips ;  Mr.  Mon- 
cure  Conway,  whose  fellow  countrymen  were  among  the 
first  to  recognise  what  immortal  poem  had  been  added 
to  the  literature  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  paid  his  tribute 
to  Omar's  great  interpreter  ;  and  this  poetic  tribute  from 
Mr.  Edmund  Gosse  was  read  : 

Reign  here,  triumphant  Rose,  from  Omar's  grave. 
Borne  by  a  dervish  o'er  the  Persian  wave ; 

Reign  with  fresh  pride,  since  here  a  heart  is  sleeping 
That  double  glory  to  your  Master  gave. 

Hither  let  many  a  pilgrim  step  be  bent 
To  greet  the  Rose  re-risen  in  banishment ; 

Here  richer  crimsons  may  its  cup  be  keeping 
Than  brimmed  it  ere  from  Naishapiir  it  went. 

Then  a  few  words  of  acknowledgment  from  Colonel 
Kerrich,  nephew  and  executor  of  FitzCerald,  followed  the 


152 


A    PILGRIMAGE 


attachment  of  a  plate,  bearing  this  inscription,  to  the 
grave  : 

"  This  Rose-tree,  raised  in  Kew  Gardens  from  seed 
brought  by  William  Simpson,  artist-traveller,  from  the 
grave  of  Omar  Khayyam  at  Naishapiir,  was  planted  by  a 
few  admirers  of  Edward  FitzGerald  in  the  name  of  the 
Omar  Khayyam  Club,  7th  October,  1893." 

The  president  of  the  Club,  Mr.  Justin  Huntly  McCarthy, 
sent  his  tribute  in  these  graceful  verses  : 

From  Naishapiir  to  England,  from  the  tomb 
Where  Omar  slumbers  to  the  Narrow  Room 

That  shrines  FitzGerald 's  ashes,  Persia  sends 
Perfume  and  Pigment  of  her  Rose  to  bloom. 

Wedded  with  Rose  of  England,  for  a  sign 
That  English  lips,  transmuting  the  divine 

High-piping  music  of  the  song  that  ends. 
As  it  began,  with  Wine  and  Wine  and  Wine, 

Across  the  ages  caught  the  words  that  fell 
From  Omar's  mouth  and  made  them  audible 
To  the  unnumbered  sitters  at  Life's  Feast 
Who  wear  their  hearts  out  over  Heaven  and  Hell. 

Vex  not  to-day  with  wonder  which  were  best, 
The  Student,  Scholar,  Singer  of  the  West 


A    PILGRIMAGE 


is: 


Or  Singer,  Scholar,  Student  of  the  East  — 
The  soul  of  Omar  burned  in  England's  breast. 

And  howsoever  Autumn's  breezes  blow 
About  this  Rose,  and  Winter's  fingers  throw 

In  mockery  of  Oriental  noons, 
Upon  this  grass  the  monumental  snow  ; 

Still  in  our  dreams  the  Eastern  Rose  survives 
Lending  diviner  fragrance  to  our  lives  : 

The  World  is  old,  cold,  warned  by  waning  moons. 
But  Omar's  creed  in  English  verse  revives. 


The  fountain  in  the  tulip-tinted  dale, 
The  manuscript  of  some  melodious  tale 

Babbling  of  love  and  lover's  passion-pale. 
Of  Rose,  of  Cypress,  and  of  Nightingale ; 

The  cup  that  Saki  proffers  to  our  lips. 

The  cup  from  which  the  Rose-Red  Mercy  drips, 

Bidding  forget  how,  like  a  sinking  sail, 
Day  after  day  into  the  darkness  slips; 

The  wisdom  that  the  Watcher  of  the  Skies 

Won  from  the  wandering  stars  that  soothed  his  eyes, 

The  legend  writ  below,  around,  above  — 
"One  thing  at  least  is  certain,  this  Life  flies;" 


154 


A    PILGRIMAGE 


These  were  the  gifts  of  Omar  —  these  he  gave 
Full-handed  :  his  Disciple  sought  to  save 

Some  portion  for  his  people,  and  their  love 
Plants  Omar's  Rose  upon  an  English  grave. 

These  poetic  wreaths,  laid  as  worthy  tribute  at  the 
master-singer's  feet,  had  happy  addition  in  this  sonnet, 
which  Mr.  Theodore  Watts  permits  me  to  reprint  from 
the  Athenceum. 

PRAYER   TO   THE    WINDS 

Hear  us,  ye  winds  ! 

From  where  the  North-wind  strows 
Blossoms  that  crown  "  the  King  of  Wisdom's  "  tomb. 
The  trees  here  planted  bring  remembered  bloom 
Dreaming  in  seed  of  Love's  ancestral  Rose 
To  meadows  where  a  braver  North-wind  blows 
O'er  greener  grass,  o'er  hedge-rose,  may,  and  broom. 
And  all  that  make  East  England's  field-perfume 
Dearer  than  any  fragrance  Persia  knows : 

Hear  us,  ye  winds.  North,  East,  and  West,  and  South  ! 
This  granite  covers  him  whose  golden  mouth 
Made  wiser  ev'n  the  word  of  Wisdom's  King : 
Blow  softly  o'er  the  grave  of  Omar's  herald 


A   PILGRIMAGE 


155 


Till  roses  rich  of  Omar's  dust  shall  spring 
From  richer  dust  of  Suffolk's  rare  FitzGerald  ! 

The  rose,  its  roots  well  struck,  may  not  flower  yet 
awhile,  but  it  will  thereby  be  fit  symbol  of  the  slow  appre- 
ciation of  the  life-work  of  him  who  is  at  rest  beneath  it. 
He  might  have  applied  to  himself  Landor's  prophecy  of 
his  own  tardy  recognition  :  "  I  shall  dine  late,  but  the 
room  will  be  well  lighted;  the  guests  few  and  select." 
And  he  might  have  added  :  "  The  viands  will  be  plain, 
but  there  will  be  good  red  wine,  and  the  cups  will  be 
drained  to-day,  though  talk  may  be  of  to-morrow.  "  For 
the  themes  of  the  Kubdiydt  are  perennial.  As  magnet 
to  the  pole,  the  spirit  of  man  turns  to  the  questions  which 
the  ancients  asked,  to  which  no  answer  comes,  to 
which  each  must  find  such  solution  as  he  can.  The 
limitations  of  knowledge  which  no  man's  experience  can 
transcend ;  the  silence  of  the  past,  the  return  of  none  of 
the  great  company  who  have  gone  behind  "  the  veil 
through  which  I  might  not  see  ";  the  transitoriness  of  all 
things  : 

Whether  at  Naishapur  or  Babylon, 
Whether  the  cup  with  sweet  or  bitter  run, 

The  Wine  of  Life  keeps  oozing  drop  by  drop ; 
The  Leaves  of  Life  keep  falling  one  by  one  ; 


156 


A    PILGRIMAGE 


the  sympathy  these  thoughts  engender  in  face  of  our 
common  frailty  and  common  destiny ;  the  cheeriness 
withal,  which,  with  another  Eastern  preacher,  bids  a  man, 
bowing  to  what  he  cannot  break,  rejoice  in  his  youth  ; 
"  take  the  Cash  and  let  the  Credit  go."  and  refuse  naught 
that  ministers  to  life's  completeness;  are  they  not  written 
in  the  Rubdiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam  ?  And  it  is  the 
transmutation  of  these  into  our  virile  English  tongue  by 
the  subtle  alchemy  of  him  who  sleeps  at  Boulge,  that  has 
secured  him  an  everlasting  name. 


PRINTED  BY 
SMITH  6-  S/ILE 
PCriiTLAN^D 
(MAINE 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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